The alarm went off, and Susan Ivanova rolled over and swatted the panel button like it was an annoying tarantula. A few seconds later, an overly cheerful com­puter voice informed her, "Downloading messages and schedule."

She stared bleary-eyed at the ceiling, wondering if it would be possible to grab an extra forty winks. Then she remembered—she had a full shift of work ahead of her, followed by the station's memorial service for G'Kar, and then a visit to the Narn Homeworld, which would probably take at least a week, counting travel time.

How much blame would Narn officials place on the personnel of Babylon 5 for this tragedy? Ivanova already felt considerable guilt, because the murder—or accident, in the unlikely event it turned out to be an accident—had happened on her watch. It had happened within her sphere of control, in the space between B5 and the jump gate. Was there anything she could have done to prevent it? In hindsight, it was easy to say that they should have prevented G'Kar from taking off on a long trip in a solo craft, but what could they have done to stop him?

G'Kar's transport had sat idle for months, and there was no way of knowing when it had been sabotaged. It was clear from the story about Du'Rog that G'Kar had been courting disaster. Even his most trusted subordinate had admitted that he deserved to be killed for what he had done to Du'Rog. Vengeance was a strong emotion, as Ivanova knew from first-hand experience. If she had been raised in a culture that honored revenge killing, she might have hunted down those responsible for her mother's death.

She dragged herself out of bed and made a small pot of coffee. It was important, she decided, to win back Na'Toth's trust. In all likelihood, the Narn attaché would be on the same ship with her and Garibaldi, and they would desperately need a guide on Homeworld, some­body they could trust. She glanced at her clock and saw that she had an hour-and-a-half before the start of her shift. Much of her day would be spent scheduling senior techs to act as her replacement in C-and-C, which was work she hated to do. She didn't like to think the station could function without her, especially for an extended period of time.

Ivanova adhered her link to the back of her hand and touched it. "I would like Attaché Na'Toth's quarters."

To her surprise, the strong-willed Narn answered, "Na'Toth here."

"This is Susan Ivanova," she said quickly. "We had a stressful meeting yesterday, and I would like the oppor­tunity to make it up to you. Could I buy you breakfast? I promise not to dissuade you from your Shon'Kar."

She held her breath during the long pause that fol­lowed. "I suppose," said Na'Toth warily.

"Shall we meet in the cafe on Red-3? Say, in twenty minutes?"

"Very well."

She found Na'Toth waiting for her in the busy cafe on Red-3, and the Narn attaché was drumming her fingers impatiently on the table as Ivanova approached.

"You are two minutes late," she said.

"Sorry." Ivanova slipped into her chair. "I didn't allow myself enough time to get dressed and check my mes­sages. Have you ordered yet?"

Na'Toth nodded. "Yes, smoked eel. It was the most expensive item on the breakfast menu."

"I like smoked eel," said the commander without hes­itation. "Perhaps I'll have the same." The waiter appeared, and she ordered smoked eel, a bagel, and some more coffee.

"What did you want to see me about?" asked Na'Toth. "It wasn't really to make up for yesterday."

"As a matter of fact, it was," said the commander. "You've got to understand that humans are a very guilt-ridden species. We feel guilty all the time, about everything. Since G'Kar died outside our station, we feel it's our responsibility. Garibaldi is turning the station upside-down looking for Mi'Ra."

Na'Toth lifted her spotted cranium and regarded the human with piercing red eyes. "He needn't bother. G'Kar was a Narn, and his murderers were Narn. He brought the Shon'Kar on to himself through his actions. You need feel no guilt, nor do you need to do anything, except to stay out of our affairs. Our society will not punish his murderers if they were fulfilling the Shon'Kar. You must know that if you expect to come with me to Homeworld." Ivanova blinked at the Narn, marveling at how quick she had gotten to the point of the meeting. "You don't mind that Garibaldi and I are going with you?"

"If your purpose is to honor the memory of G'Kar, how could I mind? If your purpose is to deprive me of my Shon'Kar, I mind a great deal. This will not be easy for me, because I will be accused of negligence in let­ting G'Kar die."

"That's hardly fair."

"Fair or not," said the Narn, "an attaché is also a body­guard. That is one reason why my vow of Shon'Kar is so important to me. I am shamed by his murder."

"Now who's feeling guilty?" asked Ivanova. "I am," admitted Na'Toth. The waiter brought their plates of eel, and the two women ate in silence.

In a shanty shack in the depths of Down Below, the dead man washed his face in a shallow pan of grimy water. He had never realized what Pa'Nar had to go through to live down here—he would have to give the man more money.

He took a ragged bit of cloth and dried his prominent chin and brow. This banishment to Down Below would be over mercifully soon, he told himself, and he would be safely aboard the K'sha Na'vas, headed back to Homeworld. He would arrive in disguise and attend to his business with the Du'Rog family, ending it once and for all.

There was another commotion outside in the grimy corridor, but he had learned to ignore the petty thievery and drunken brawls that typified life in Down Below. He had occasionally ventured down here for amusement, but he would never come here again, if he could help it. The shouts grew louder outside the shack, and he nearly threw open the flap to order them to be quiet. No, he cau­tioned himself, this was not the time to be assertive.

Suddenly, the flap flew open, and Pa'Nar crawled in, looking distraught. "You must hide!" he hissed.

"Hide?" growled G'Kar. He glanced around at the dis­mal shack. "I am hiding!"

"It's Garibaldi!" warned the older man, glancing over his shoulder. "His officers are making another sweep, looking for your killers. We caused a disturbance to delay them, but they are searching everywhere!"

G'Kar grabbed his PPG pistol and looked around. There was no rear door to the pathetic shack, and no place to run even if he got out. He climbed back on to the cot and clutched the weapon to his chest.

"Throw the blanket over me," he ordered. "Tell them I am sick."

They both jumped when a fist pounded on the corru­gated metal wall, nearly bringing the shack down. "Excuse me," barked a voice, "is this a Narn house­hold?"

"I am coming!" called Pa'Nar. He threw the blanket over G'Kar, who turned his back to the door. Trembling with fear, the older Narn scurried out.

G'Kar could hear their conversation. "Sorry to bother you," began the officer, "but we're looking for undocu­mented Narns in connection with Ambassador G'Kar's death. Are you listed on the station roster?"

"I should be," said 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?"

G'Kar suffered a few tense moments while the secu­rity officer presumably checked Pa'Nar's identicard on his handheld terminal. "Yes, I have you listed," he agreed. "Any other Narns in your household?"

Careful, G'Kar though in panic. The wrong answer could be disastrous. But what was the right answer?