A Call to Arms (10 page)

She paced up and down, wondering what this was going to be about. Lochley admired Sheridan. Hell, they’d even been married, though only briefly and a long time ago. Just out of officer’s school. Still, there had been something about him that had made her do it, and that “something” still existed today. He must have felt the same--he had been instrumental in her getting this posting. She knew that she owed him. But this job was her baby, and she wasn’t going to allow anyone, not even Sheridan, to interfere in the way she ran the station. Thus, it seemed at times as if she took pains to be critical of Sheridan, as though it was the only way she could keep her judgment toward him sound.

And it seemed to her that trouble followed Sheridan wherever he went. This was doubly true of Garibaldi, so she had a shrewd idea that trouble was going to land on her as soon as they set foot on B5.

The lock door slid open with a smooth purr of oiled machinery, and Sheridan stepped out, followed by Garibaldi. Lochley noticed that Garibaldi already had on his don’t-ask-me expression. This piqued her interest even more.

Sheridan said, “Captain... good to see you again.”

“And you, Mr. President,” Lochley responded. “It’s quite a surprise.”

Sheridan nodded, then with a glance at Garibaldi, said, “Well, perhaps not
that
much of a surprise. I need a favor, Captain. I want you to run these pictures, see if you can find them on the station. The likeness may not be exact, but they should be close enough for the computer to do an analysis.”

Lochley accepted the drawings and looked through them. “Are you sure they’re here?” she asked.

“No,” Sheridan said. “But if they’re not, they will be soon. Unless, of course, they’ve already left.”

Sheridan then walked on into the station, thus indicating that the time for discussion had ended. Garibaldi and Lochley exchanged meaningful looks.

Lochley said, “Do you have any idea what this is about?”

“Not a clue,” Garibaldi answered with a touch of exasperation.

They followed Sheridan into the station.

Dureena was in the Zocalo. It was a crowded place that seemed filled to overflowing with people and things. It was Babylon 5’s marketplace, a place where you could find anything and sell anything. The proclivities of a dozen or more different races, evenly divided at present between Human and other, vied for attention here. The fantastic variety of clothing alone would have served to outfit the cast of a futuristic presentation of
The Beggar’s Opera
.

The Zocalo gave the impression of having been compressed to fit the confined, curving surfaces of Babylon 5. It was an entirely indoors landscape, a riot of colors, many of them faded to earth shades of brown and gray, as though returning to their remote origins. Here and there was a patch of orange, a rust patch that had erupted overnight in the moist atmosphere and escaped the cleanup people and the refinishers.

Dureena loved it here. She enjoyed the sounds of this small, densely crowded city within a city, especially the sounds of people, talking, wheedling, arguing, laughing, shouting-the great symphony of denizens packed closely together and trying to live by the customs of a former life that involved more space.

The effect was an analogue of a medieval scene, from a time before people and things had become standardized. And the wares of this marketplace were every bit as exotic as the buyers and sellers, ranging from book decoders that projected eyelid images to basket lunches that could be eaten in odd corners, wherever the diners could perch.

And as rich as the shifting shapes and images were, the extraordinary array of sounds competed with them for attention. The variety of speech-noises, ranging from squeaks to droning basses, mixed with an overlay of sounds generated by the station itself. metallic noises produced as parts worked against each other, internal sounds like the flow and gurgle of the various pipes carrying liquids, the lapping chuff and hollow boom of other tubes filled with gases of various sorts.

Dureena glided through the Zocalo as if it were her natural element, even though she had never seen a place as crowded, congested, and various as this. She was munching a granidos, a molded protein substance flavored and deep-fried and sold by vendors. Dureena thought it was the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten. She had quite forgotten the subis with baked draff bread of her home planet. This stuff was better!

Vlast was behind her once again, keeping his distance, practicing his art of blending in with whatever crowd he was passing through. An unobtrusive fellow was Hycher Vlast, small, hunched, furtive, and easy to overlook. His ragged black clothing matched the apparel of half the Humans here, and more than a few of the aliens. He moved with his head down, but cast quick looks through bright eyes that lurked behind a tangle of coarse black hair. But strangely, despite his best efforts, between one glimpse and the next, he lost sight of the woman.

“Damn it!” he said to himself. How could she have eluded him so easily? What secrets had she learned on whatever far-flung planet she’d been raised on?

“Looking for me?” a voice said in his ear.

Vlast whirled. There was Dureena, standing less than a yard from him, her look most unpleasant, even alarming to behold. Vlast noticed that she had a jagged piece of metal in her hand, its end taped.

“I thought they took away your weapons at customs,” Vlast said.

“There’s plenty of stuff lying around here-if you know how to use it.”

“Hey, not on me, lady!” Vlast said. “I mean you no harm.”

“Then why have you been following me?”

“You noticed that, did you?”

“A blind man would notice your interest in me, little man. And I’m not blind.”

“No, that you’re definitely not,” Vlast said. “Believe me, lady, I mean you no harm. Quite the contrary. I knew you were the right one the moment I laid eyes on you. I’m here to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“Serving you, no doubt? Forget it. I’d rather mate with a slime mold.”

“I meant no such thing,” Vlast said indignantly. “You’re not my type, anyway. No, what I had in mind was to make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.”

“This out of the goodness of your heart, no doubt.”

“You and I would share equally in the good fortune, depending upon the successful conclusion of a fortuitous combination of your skills and my knowledge.”

Dureena scoffed at him, disgusted by his double-talk. “You’re obviously a beggar and a cheat, and the only thing you know how to do is make up tall tales in order to cheat the innocent.”

“You, innocent?” Vlast responded. “Lady, I’d judge you a walking weapon, and a master thief to boot. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I had you spotted as one of the Guild from your first entry into Babylon 5. And I was sure of it when Rolf coldcocked you, then took you to Bishop.”

“Were you there?” Dureena asked. “No. I didn’t see that part. But I heard about it. I stay well away from Guild meetings. It doesn’t pay to pry into thieves’ secrets. But that’s what Rolf always does when there’s a new arrival who shows thieving tendencies but suffers from a lack of credentials.”

“I have my credentials,” Dureena said.

“That much is obvious, now. Otherwise you would never have walked away from the Guild meeting. As good as Bishop is at thieving, they say he’s even better at hiding the bodies of those who don’t meet his criteria.”

“You know a lot about the Thieves’ Guild. “

“I’ve had my dealings with them before. Bishop and I were friends once, and Rolf used to dine at my table, when I had the wherewithal to set one.”

“And now?”

“We had an unfortunate falling-out. Pity, because I have an interesting project for which I need a good thief. It is something that could enrich the thief and myself.”

“So you said earlier. Why didn’t you make a deal with Bishop when you were still friends?”

“Before I take someone into my confidence, I have to feel certain I can trust them. Our disagreement came before I felt I could show these to Bishop
or
Rolf.” Vlast’s hand snaked into his layered garment and came out with a half a dozen photographs. He handed them to Dureena, who glanced at them with minor interest. They were old, ragged around the edges, and blurred.

“Big deal,” Dureena murmured. “Judging from the level of skill shown here, I’m betting you took them yourself.” She handed them back to him.

“I beg of you, study them. They will confirm the story I’m about to tell. In fact, they will tell you the story better than I can.”

“This is growing tedious,” Dureena said. “Am I supposed to do this standing here on this street corner?”

“Permit me to buy you a drink,” Vlast said smoothly. “We are no great distance from the Red Hawk Bar. I run a modest tab there.”

“I could use a drink or two,” Dureena said. “And some dinner, too.”

“This way,” Vlast said. “And you need fear no foul play in the Red Hawk.”

“Glad you told me that.” Dureena was sarcastic. “Really makes me feel a lot better. Lead the way.”

The Red Hawk, nestled in Down Below, proved to be a Quonset-shaped building wedged in between a curving wall and a stacked pile of thick concrete pipes no one had found a use for yet. The atmosphere was dark, streaked with layers of grime left by the smoke. There were flashes from concealed lighting that did little to help you find your way between the tables.

Vlast passed something to the bouncer, a huge Human in a black T-shirt, and they were ushered to a booth at the end of the room. No sooner were they settled than a waiter came by, a Llort, Dureena guessed, to give them a menu that was printed on heavy cardboard. Vlast ordered for them both, suggested a local beer, and didn’t even frown when Dureena agreed but asked for a shot of whiskey on the side.

When the drinks had been served, he handed Dureena the photographs again. “The tale is brief,” he said, “and it will tell you who I am and what I am doing here. It will also give you a very broad clue as to what I desire of your skills.”

Dureena sipped her whiskey, drank down half the beer, and scanned the photos, this time affording them more attention.

One photo portrayed a stately room on a planet that through a large picture window-boasted a yellow atmosphere streaked with violet. In the room stood a gaudily dressed man with a crown--seemingly the ruler of the place. And there was another man whom she had no difficulty in recognizing as Vlast-but a younger Vlast, and much better dressed. In fact, a Vlast who actually seemed a person of consequence. The other pictures showed different views of the same scene.

“Okay,” Dureena said. “I’ve seen them. So what?”

Vlast said, “These were taken at a court ceremony on the planet Myost. You don’t know of it? No reason you should. You don’t look to me like a lady who has studied celestial geography. Pickpocketing 101 is perhaps more your speed, eh, my lady?

“Myost was a small world, and it was in the path of the Shadows during the Great War. I was minister of finance in the government of the planet. Securing the planet’s treasure was my line’s hereditary task.”

Vlast took a long drink of his beer, then resumed his tale.

“In view of the menace, I recommended the evacuation of our Homeworld. It was already obvious that the Shadows would overrun us as they had done so many others. Our treasure, I told the king, should be used to buy us passage to some safe haven.

“The king ignored my advice. He placed his trust in treaties, secret treaties with many fine clauses. Finally I was able to prevail upon him to let me take our national treasure off planet, to hide it on Babylon 5. Then, if anything went wrong, the treasures of our culture, at least, would not be lost.”

Vlast took a final drink of his beer. “And now it is over. My people are gone. My planet is a dead world. Nothing remains of Myost but me and the treasure. That treasure is now on this station.”

“So what do you need me for?”

“I need help to reclaim what is rightfully mine.”

“Yours? I thought it belonged to your people.”

“So it did. I am the last survivor.”

“Then why can’t you just walk in and take it?”

“The storage company has, shall we say, arranged matters to make this all but impossible.”

“The storage company?”

“Their contract provides for a period of time after which, if the treasure is not removed, the company can claim the contents for itself. Therefore, they have good reason to make entry into their lockers as difficult and dangerous as possible. They alone reap the benefits of red tape and vague contracts.”

Dureena thought about it. “Your tale of how the treasure got here has more than one inconsistency.”

“Perhaps,” he replied. Then his eyes narrowed. “What do you care what the truth of the matter may be? Perhaps I stole the treasure and brought it to Babylon 5 myself, only to have it stolen from me. Or perhaps someone else did take it, and I killed him. What difference does it make? There’s a treasure here, and I’m offering to share it with you.”

Dureena looked at him thoughtfully. Vlast might be a liar, but he might really know where something valuable was to be found. What did it matter to her how it had gotten there or to whom it really belonged?

So she said, “Is
any
of that story true?”

“Enough of it,” Vlast said.

“I’m going to be very annoyed if the treasure isn’t where you say it is.”

“And I,” Vlast said, “am going to be equally annoyed if you’re not up to the task of acquiring it for me. It’s here on Babylon 5, that much is the truth, and it’s not going to wait for us forever.”

Vlast led the way, about ten feet ahead of her, his black clothing flapping in the wind sent up by one of the ventilators. They were out of the main corridors now, moving quickly through some sort of structure that appeared to be composed of joined boxlike members.

Suddenly Vlast came to a stop in front of an opening, approximately three yards across and five high, in the far end of the structure.

“What’s the matter?” Dureena asked, glancing around for signs of trouble.