Clark's Law, page 11
To one bom on Mars, movement was an effort here. Her breath came only with a struggle, the air was so thick. And her legs and back already ached with the increase of gravity to Earth-normal.
She rummaged in her bag for her passport and Customs documents. Paperwork. Everything was paperwork. All rules and regulations. She hated them. Hated them. Brian loved them of course. Most of the Terrans working Marsdome seemed to as well. Perhaps such a love of red tape was endemic to those bom on Earth. She smiled. The thought appealed, though Brian would never have found it funny.
The smile faded. Brian was dead. She was here to collect his body.
When the message from Syria Planum administration had arrived informing her of Brian’s death aboard Babylon 5, her overriding feeling had been one of surprise. Not fear. Not pain. Surprise-and the tiniest hint of relief.
The feelings were confusing. Her husband of six years was dead. The father of her children was dead. Shouldn’t she feel upset? Ravaged by his loss? Enraged and shocked?
Before she could answer these questions she became aware of a voice approaching. “Here. Ted, she’s over here. Come on!” The voice was human, female, slightly aggressive. Pushy.
Jacintha turned when the voice stopped beside her, found herself face-to-face with a woman in her early middle age with a cute bob and a determined light in her otherwise too-friendly eyes. The woman beckoned and a man approached carrying a video recorder. He aimed the recorder at her face and began to line up a shot.
Jacintha blinked, felt the Christmassy glitz of the Customs terminal begin to drain away.
The woman said, “Jacintha Grond? It is Jacintha, isn’t it? DeBora Devereau, Channel 57 news. I presume you are here to collect your husband’s body for transport to Mars and burial?” Jacintha nodded. “That’s right I-“
Devereau nodded sympathetically. “I understand the restraining order EarthGov has placed on the body must be particularly distressing.”
Jacintha blinked. “I beg your pardon?” Her stomach rumbled. How long had it been since she had last eaten? Twelve hours? More?
“You mean you don’t know that EarthGov have restricted the movement of your husband’s body to aid the autopsy and provide direct evidence, if required, for the trial?”
Jacintha felt the crowd surging around her slow and then come to a stop. Eyes regarded her almost… hungrily. “Trial? What trial? What are you talking about? My husband died. I’m here to bring his body back for burial.”
“So no one from EarthGov or the B5 administration has spoken to you about this?”
“No. Brian has to be buried. I paid for my own flight here. No one said I couldn’t come. No one said anything in fact.”
“And how do you feel about the fact that information regarding your husband’s death and his… proclivities instation… has been withheld from you? Do you think it was accidental or deliberate? Do you think it could have any bearing on the newest change in terrestrial law-that pertaining to the death penalty?” Devereau pressed insistently closer and Jacintha found herself backing nervously away. What was all this? Brian was dead. That was all she knew. What were these other things? The death penalty? Proclivities… ? What proclivities?
Had he been up to his old tricks again?
Jacintha felt her face fold into a scowl. An old anger surged inside her. She felt the last of her sense of wonder slip away, to be replaced by a set of very familiar feelings: emotional numbness, anger, betrayal. “You mean did I know Brian had been sleeping around? Yes. I knew that.”
Devereau almost leapt with delight. “So what you’re saying is that you knew your husband was renting sacktime with the legals here. How do you feel about that, Jacintha? What is it like to know your husband is enjoying sex with aliens?” Jacintha felt her anger intensify. The crowd seemed to press in around her with stifling intensity. The video camera seemed just centimeters away from her face. Devereau pressed closer with her microphone, using her body language to demand answers to her questions.
More members of the press arrived, different networks who’d noticed Devereau’s attention focused on her and had come to investigate.
She was assaulted with questions.
“How do you feel about Brian’s death?”
“What will you do if they won’t release his body?”
“Have you considered the political ramifications?”
“Why do you think Brian was screwing aliens?”
“What was he like in bed?”
The anger flared suddenly. Who were these people? They weren’t people. They were animals, a pack of animals crying out for blood, her blood, her feelings.
“Please-I’ve just arrived. I can’t think. My husband’s dead. I don’t know anything. Why don’t you speak to the administration?”
It did no good. The questions rained endlessly around her. “Did your husband do this often?”
“How did you feel when you first found out?”
“What was his favorite position ?”
“Have you told the children yet?”
And suddenly she could take no more. It was too much. Tears came in a flood and then she was barging her way out of the line. Hands grabbed at her, demands to look at this camera or that camera, a barrage of questions that she heard only as the sound of thunder, of a desert sandstorm ripping at the habitation dome. She almost dropped her bag, struck out when someone came too close, ignored the cry of pain as the reporter-she thought it was Devereau-fell backward, lost herself in the crowd of aliens crowding the Customs terminal. Her legs and back ached horribly.
It was too much. She had come here for Brian and now it would be on the news and the kids would see it, see her, crying, and why couldn’t they leave her alone because it was all just too—
A hand took her arm then. A polite but firm voice spoke directly to her. “Mrs. Grond? I’m from Station Security. I’m sorry about this. I’ll get you through the terminal. If you’ll come with me, please.”
She went with the officer. But her anger didn’t fade as the crowd parted to let her through. It was as if the space the security officer created around her didn’t exist.
The press couldn’t follow-but their questions could.
And as the questions assaulted her so her anger grew.
CHAPTER 2
Arranging the meeting with the Tuchanq delegation had not been a problem. Ambassador Mollari had assigned the task to his aide, and Vir had done a magnificent job.
Now here they all were, himself, Vir, nuViel, her Chorus, all in the same room, one of the conference rooms that were available for use subject to the usual booking fee. Mollari smiled inwardly when he remembered a particular occasion in the past when his propensity for gambling had left his Government’s funds insufficient to book the room. That had been embarrassing. But no more. Now his credit was unlimited. As far as his Government was concerned he could do no wrong. Mollari was learning to like the feeling. There were balances of course, but weren’t there in everything? Mollari’s first and foremost loyalty was to the Republic. His vision was of a glorious hand stretching out from star to star, people to people, uniting systems and galaxies in a universal peace. All right, there might be a few minor scuffles on the way, but ultimately what was that compared to the grand design? Would the future remember the Narn, the Dilgar, the Pak’ma’ra? He thought not. Their stars were dim compared to the potential glory of the Republic.
Londo Mollari wanted only one thing before he felt the fingers of an aged G’Kar at his throat, and that was nothing more than to hand more of those stars to his people. More of those worlds.
Worlds such as Tuchanq.
What of their resources? The Narn war machinery abandoned there? What could be accomplished on Tuchanq to benefit his Government?
Mollari became aware that Ivanova and Vir were both staring at him. nuViel was speaking. Oh yes. That was right. Now what had she been saying? Something about getting to know a representative of the Republic at last.
He mumbled a polite nothing, smiled ingenuously.
nuViel responded almost as he had expected. A tip of the spines, a leaning closer, as if to pay closer attention. Mollari felt a thrill slip along his pouched tentacles. The predictability of it all was more satisfying than a rigged deck in a game of poker.
Well, almost.
nuViel said, “I have waited a long time to meet a representative of your Government. If only to redress the lie the Narn told us about you.”
Mollari winked at Vir, put on his most agreeable voice. “Ah yes, the Narn. An honorable race.” Mollari placed an ironic emphasis on the word honorable. “One so honorable they used Centauri weaponry to subdue your planet and then blamed the Republic for crimes they committed themselves.”
nuViel’s spines fluttered in agitation. “They are our bane; destroyers of the Land.”
“I have seen other worlds to whom the Narn have offered their hand in friendship.” Mollari sighed, shook his head. “A terrible waste. Whole cultures perverted to the cause of war.” He shivered. “Still, that is more than enough talk of the Narn. We are all aware of the atrocities they committed while governing your world. I, on the other hand, am here as duly appointed representative of the Republic, with a genuine offer of friendship. Of help for your people.” A hesitation. “Of help for the Land.”
nuViel tipped her spines interestedly toward Mollari. “Go on, Ambassador.”
“I have been authorized to offer the help of my people. We can provide terraforming equipment, ecologists, and engineers to run it. We can make the Land live again.”
nuViel hummed quietly to herself. “And what would the Republic require in exchange for this service? I warn you, we are by no means a wealthy culture.”
Mollari shrugged, beamed expansively. “Why would we want anything in exchange? We are all friends here. Intelligence is the province of maturity. We can help you, so we will. And… just between you and me, nuViel, I have had words with my Government-I am well connected there, as I expect you know-anyway, I have been able to extract an additional promise from the Emperor.” A pause for effect. “We are prepared to place a small peacekeeping force on your moon. In order to demonstrate our… friendship, should the Narn or anyone else feel that they can… take advantage of our friends.” Peripherally, Mollari was aware that both Ivanova and Vir were keeping their faces carefully blank. Good. It seemed professional behavior was finally beginning to count for something around here. He beamed even more expansively at nuViel, widened the look to take in her Chorus. “Now what could be fairer than that?” nuViel considered. Her spines tipped toward the other members of the delegation, including, Mollari noticed, those who until very recently had been pronounced insane.
nuViel angled her spines back toward him. “Your offer is generous, and we thank you. However, the humans and the Minbari have also offered us help. They have imposed no conditions upon us.”
“nuViel, we ask for no conditions.” Mollari pursed his lips. “The Narn destroyed the Land, brought starvation upon its People. When the old and the infirm died, they were put into machines and reprocessed as food for the remaining population.” nuViel shuddered. Excellent. His words were hitting home.
“I am sure I do not need to remind you of this. The Narn are your enemies, as they are ours. Is not the enemy of my enemy my friend? We of the Republic are your friends. We can make your world green again. Feed you again. We can remove the machines from your world, take them away to be broken and destroyed, or put to more profitable use. We can give you back the Land that once was yours.” nuViel consulted again with her Chorus. “Ambassador, there is much merit in what you say. But we must consider fully all aspects of the help you offer. For while it is true that you have made no aggressive moves toward our people, it was the Republic who used illegal weapons to subdue the Narn homeworld.” Mollari’s eyes narrowed. Ivanova was smiling thinly. Vir maintained a neutral expression.
Mollari allowed a hint of righteous anger to enter his voice. “We took what steps we could to defend ourselves against the Narn aggressors. In subduing the Narn homeworld, we were responsible for freeing Tuchanq.”
“I understand this. It may be that from evil good may come. As I said. We must consider all of our options.” nuViel tipped her spines to the left, rose along with her delegation. The meeting was at an end. Ivanova cast a bright look at Mollari as she followed the delegation from the room. Too bright. Mollari frowned. The Tuchanq weren’t going to accept his offer. The Emperor would not be pleased if that eventuality came to pass. And though the effects of that anger might be slow in coming, Mollari knew too well on whom the eventual punishment would fall.
He thought quickly. “Vir. Please be so kind as to find Mr. Morden for me and inform him I need to speak with him in my quarters. Urgently.”
Vir’s expression was unreadable. Still, Mollari had an inkling of what his aide might be thinking. No matter. Let them hate him, let them all hate him. He would submit for approval only to posterity. Let the future judge him. He knew what the verdict would be.
Londo Mollari left the room with a faint smile playing gently about his lips.
World to world, race to race, star system to star system.
The future beckoned.
CHAPTER 3
Sheridan met Jacintha Grond at the entrance to his office, ushered her inside with a word of greeting, studied her as he followed her inside.
Mars bom, she was tall. Thin. Attractive in a harsh way. Her prominent features sagged slightly under the earth-normal gravity prevalent instation. Her face was calm but the set of her body revealed the emotional toll the last twenty-four hours must have taken on her. Sheridan felt every sympathy. He introduced himself and offered his hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
He showed her to a comfortable seat facing the office picture window. “Can I get you anything? A drink? Have you eaten?” Sheridan thought carefully about what to say to her. Under normal circumstances her husband’s body would have been shipped home for burial on Mars.
These weren’t normal circumstances.
He wondered how much of the truth it would be fair to tell her; probably quite a lot more than he was going to tell her. He offered a slight smile which she did not return.
“Captain Sheridan, I have come here for my husband’s body. I do not want anything to eat or drink. I find the gravity here exhausting. The trip was almost prohibitively expensive. My flight back is booked for sixteen hours from now. When I return I will have to arrange the dispensation of my husband’s business. So if you will be kind enough to take me to Medlab, I would like to see Brian once more before he is taken aboard the liner.”
Her voice was calm, emotionless. Sheridan knew that was sometimes the case. Relatives would be unable to express emotion until actually seeing the deceased. Jacintha Grond had probably been unable to acknowledge her husband was truly dead. After all, the last time she had seen him he was alive, probably excited to be off, worried about what to pack, telling Jacintha he would miss her and the kids, promising them presents. Oh yes. He understood her need to see her husband. But shipping him home was going to be a whole different problem.
“Mrs. Grond I can arrange with Dr. Franklin for you to see your husband’s body. But…” He hesitated. “I am afraid you won’t be able to take the body back home with you just yet.” Jacintha blinked. “I don’t understand.”
Sheridan took the seat beside her. “How much do you know about your husband’s death?”
Jacintha licked her lips, half closed her eyes, remembering. “I made him promise to take a holiday when he got back. A month away together on a rent-and-roll along the Valley Marineris. He didn’t want to. I knew that. To be honest, I was glad he was going away. Things were strained between us. He was Earth-born; I’m third-generation Martian. The gravity is… well, it’s a problem. And there were… other things. Other problems. We’d been married six years, most of them bad. It wasn’t going to last. Now he’s dead.” Jacintha shifted her gaze from the window to Sheridan. “What do I know about his death? Only that I am not surprised by how little I miss him.” She sighed. “I think perhaps I’ll have that drink you offered. Scotch if you have it.”
Sheridan pulled a dusty bottle from a glass cabinet. “Rank doth have its privileges. I managed to get this shipped out from a family in the Highlands.”
She did not respond to his small talk, took the drink neat, swallowed it in one gulp. She held the empty glass in one hand, turning it endlessly with her long fingers and watching daylight from the window pass through it to form splintered patterns on the gray carpet. A moment of silence, then, “You said I couldn’t take Brian home with me.”
Sheridan nodded. “That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Mrs. Grond, your husband was murdered by a member of an alien delegation currently petitioning for help to restore their planetary ecology. As you can imagine, this complicates matters.”
“I see.”
Sheridan watched Jacintha closely. Was she sitting up a little straighter? Was that intense look on her face simply due to the struggle against Earth-normal gravity and air density? Impossible She was in shock. Who wouldn’t be? Struggling to understand To comprehend how planetary politics could stop her from burying her husband and mourning his death.
Once again she surprised him.
“There will of course be a trial. The Tuchanq in question will be charged with murder. The change in the death penalty makes it inevitable.” A hesitation. “Brian’s body has to remain here as physical evidence of the crime. In case the trial becomes… complicated.”
Sheridan blinked in surprise. “That’s right.”
He felt her gaze harden as she answered his unspoken question. “I found out about it almost the moment I arrived instation. From a reporter who wanted to interview me.”
“The press.” Sheridan sighed, remembering his own experience with the press almost exactly four months before. “Mrs. Grond, I am so sorry that you were subjected to-“
