She holstered her weapon. "What do you mean, you were following orders?"
"I mean, a man paid me to find you." With awe, Pa'Ko reached into a threadbare pocket and held out two black coins.
"To find me?" Mi'Ra asked with alarm. She stopped and surveyed the windblown street, wondering who else was lurking in the shadows.
The lad did another cartwheel and landed right beside her. He barely came up to her shoulders. "The man asked me if I knew where you lived. I said I did, but I wouldn't show him your house—that could be dangerous. I only agreed to watch for you and give you a message."
"What is the message?" asked Mi'Ra warily.
"At the north end of Street Jasgon, a shuttlecraft is parked. You are to go there and meet him." Pa'Ko smiled and held out his hand, cocking his head from side to side. "Now you will give me a reward, too."
"Get out of here!" scoffed Mi'Ra. She took a mock swing at the youngster, but he deftly dodged it. "Who is this man?"
Pa'Ko shrugged. "Do I look like I know people who fly around in fine shuttlecraft? It is parked there now. I would go see him, if I were you."
"It wasn't a human, was it?" asked Mi'Ra.
The boy laughed, and it was a surprisingly joyous sound. "A human from Earth? That is even more rare than a shuttlecraft!"
"Some humans will be looking for us tomorrow," said Mi'Ra thoughtfully. "If you spot them first, you might have a chance to make some more money."
"Critical!" yelled the young Narn. Pa'Ko stared into his hand at his newfound riches, then ran off down the street, a collection of gangly limbs. He darted between two houses and was gone.
Mi'Ra took a deep breath and thought about going back to the house to get her brother, to back her up. But T'Kog wouldn't flex a muscle now that he had money again, however briefly. The only place he would be willing to go would be an expensive vacation, or house hunting. More than ever, she felt alone and shut out from everything—her family, her birthright, even her revenge. Besides, this mysterious stranger hadn't sent the boy to look for her whole family, just her.
She stuck to the center of Street V'Tar for as long as she could, then she pulled out her knife and slipped into the alley. There were people burning debris, but they were a good hundred meters away. She skirted along the wall until she reached the archway, then she dashed through, slashing her knife. Only the dust devils took notice of her heroics, and they swirled around her admiringly.
Mi'Ra decided not to walk directly down Street Jasgon, knowing she might meet people she knew. It was the hour of the night when almost anyone might be walking the streets of the border zone, and the attractions of Jasgon were not unknown in the upper circles. Mi'Ra hoped this stranger wasn't some playboy having a joke at her expense, hoping to get his way with a woman who had fallen from grace. Mi'Ra had endured countless propositions since moving to this hovel, but she had entertained none of them. The daughter of Du'Rog wanted to get back into the upper circles, but she wanted to do so on her own terms. Her father's reputation had to be rehabilitated at the same time, and she tried to ignore how unlikely that was to happen.
The young Narn kept to the walls and alleys, passing a few people but doing it too swiftly to be noticed. She could be very lizard-like when she wanted to be, darting away from danger, holding perfectly still, moving in spurts with little wasted energy. In dashes from wall to wall and building to building, she reached the end of Street Jasgon without having set foot in it. Just as Pa'Ko had foretold, there was a gray, unmarked shuttlecraft sitting in a windblown field, crushing a few scraggly stalks of grain.
Mi'Ra walked slowly toward the sleek craft, her hand on her PPG. It was, indeed, a very fine shuttlecraft, better than the military or rangers had. Mi'Ra noticed movement in the small cockpit, and a light flashed for a second. She wondered whether an image had been taken of her. So what if it had? She wasn't a fugitive, and her likeness and history were well known, even if her existence was determinedly ignored in certain circles. Let them see that she wasn't afraid or ashamed of facing them, as they were of her.
As she drew closer, the hatch door opened upward. She froze with her hand on her weapon, waiting. A man dressed in evening finery, as if he were about to dine in the grotto, stepped off the shuttlecraft. He looked around the area, making sure she hadn't been followed or molested, then he nodded to her. When she stepped closer, he motioned inside the expensive shuttlecraft.
"A lady would like to speak with you," he said.
"A lady?" She stared at him warily. "Da'Kal, the widow?"
The man smiled with amusement. "No."
"Come in," called a steely woman's voice. It was the kind of voice that brooked no nonsense, and Mi'Ra climbed aboard the shuttlecraft without further hesitation. This was a royal summons, and she was still Narn enough to obey.
Seated at the navigator's station was a woman wearing a long, black gown, with her legs crossed seductively. Mi'Ra recognized her immediately, having seen her earlier that day. It was Ra'Pak of the Inner Circle. The young Narn had the sinking feeling that she was going to get the bill for Da'Kal's gratitude before even a single coin had been spent. If this was a warning for her to keep her place and keep her mouth shut, Mi'Ra was going to give this woman an earful.
"You are angry all the time, aren't you?" observed Ra'Pak.
"Yes," answered the younger woman. "I'm waiting for a reason to be content."
"I'm afraid I can't give you that." Ra'Pak suppressed a smile. "Seeing as how you're already angry, I don't feel too badly about telling you something that will make you even angrier."
"That would be difficult."
"I don't think so. What if I told you that G'Kar had faked his death and was still alive?"
"What?" Mi'Ra was trembling.
"You heard me, and it is the truth. I suspected something was amiss with G'Kar's death, and the Earthers confirmed it just tonight."
"They helped him fake his death?" asked Mi'Ra, thinking that the human she had met didn't seem the type for underhand fraud.
"No, they only discovered what he did a short time ago themselves. I eavesdropped when they were talking with their commander on Babylon 5. It is definite—G'Kar is alive. If you don't believe me, you can wait a few days, and the news will come out on its own."
Still in shock, Mi'Ra ran her hands over her cranium. She could feel the scar where she had sealed her Shon'Kar. "If he lives, then I will not be denied."
"Oh, he lives," Ra'Pak assured her. "And you won't be denied if you move swiftly. My spies believe he is on Homeworld now—he may even be traveling with the humans, wearing a disguise. This is the time to strike, while he is supposedly dead and is still within easy reach."
Mi'Ra growled and shook her fist. "That blasted Thenta Ma'Kur—they lied to me!"
Ra'Pak shrugged. "It isn't the first time they've taken credit for something they didn't do. They are snakes."
"But why would G'Kar do this thing?"
"Fear of you."
The young Narn smiled, feeling the blood surging within her breast, flowing to her brain and muscles. Her message to G'Kar had gotten through, and not only would she kill him, she would make him suffer for his treachery. It pleased her to know that he had already suffered enough to fake his own death. Then she realized that Da'Kal's blood money might have come from G'Kar, with his blessing! He couldn't buy his way out of this, but she wouldn't stop him from trying. Maybe they could have his money and his blood.