Just a disclaimer that I own nothing. Also just a few thank yous: firstly to JMS (Of course!!) for creating this great universe for which I love to play in. To Lawrence G. Ditilillo for the character of Walker Smith, to the late Greg McKinney for his excellent portrayal of Walker Smith and to John Vornholt for the character of Pa'Ko.

August 21st, 2258

Grid Epsilon

Walker Smith, a man of great stature and presence, had booked the last flight out of Babylon 5 that day. It was a long trip home; but one that would deliver him much satisfaction. It was a chance to reflect on what had gone before, and the challenges to come.
He made his way down the cramped aisles of the Earth Alliance Passenger Liner White-Star and took the first window seat. Even though for 99 of the journey there was nothing to see he did enjoy the view once they were near home; besides the blips and bubbles of hyperspace's crimson mist had a strange soothing sensation that would kill the time.
To his surprise and delight he was joined in the small row of three bench seats by a large elderly Caucasian man with a long wispy white beard. Walker recognized the man immediately, as Rabbi Koslov, the man he'd shared the rid to Babylon 5 a week or so before.
"Good to see you again my friend," Koslov said, setting his body's cumbersome frame into the seat.
"You too," Smith returned the smile, "But I thought you would've headed back to Earth before now?"
"Oi!" the Rabbi said, it was a very Jewish, and very endearing, exclamation. "I was booked aboard another vessel, my passage to the Russian Consortium all arranged, when Susan; that little baboska, I told you about? She decided that I should stay."
Walker didn't want to press for more information about why the Rabbi had stayed longer, he was a man of faith and wouldn't speak of such personal matters.
"At least I'll have someone to talk to on the ride home," Walked pitched.
"Yes, our meeting aboard the White-Star before was great fortune. You know I prayed for you during your… what do they call it?"
"Mutai?"
"No! You're meetings with Mister Garibaldi! Susan says he can be quite, how did she put it? Wearing?"
Walker gave a hard single laugh, he knew exactly what the Rabbi meant, and he deeply appreciate any help he received; spiritual or otherwise.
The White-Star was getting ready for departure now. An attractive flight attendant had just announced they were about to enter hyperspace and that seatbelts should be fastened for just the jump.

Walker stared out of the window back at Babylon 5, his location in the White-Star's rotational section made the station disappear and reappear in his line of sight twice before the ship reached the Euphrates Jump Gate, each time Walker smiled; hoping his good friend, Michael Garibaldi, would be alright. He seemed happy enough, but as the news said; life out on the rim could be hard, and dangerous.
A moment later, and the eternal blackness was replaced by the unforgiving haze of hyperspace, and Walker settled in for the long flight back to Sol. The White-Star's trip would take her to the docking station in orbit of Mars, before finally heading back to homeworld; it would be the ship's Martian port that Walker would get off at.
"I heard about your success at the Mutai," Rabbi Koslov said a few moments into their journey, a hard religious ceremony the previous day had obviously not dinted the man's talkative nature.
"Yeah, it made station news. I was the first Human to fight in the Mutai," Walker reiterated, he may be his own number one fan; but someone had to be, right?
"I wouldn't call it a complete success, I drew afterall," Smith added honestly, as well as being his own number one; he was also his own harshest critic.
"Ah! How does one measure success? Wins? Money earned? No, success is measured in respect; and from what I saw you earned much of that."
"I think you're right Rabbi."
"Of course I'm right! I'm a Rabbi after all! It's my job to know these things," the Rabbi it seemed, appeared to be his own number one fan. "You said on our trip to the station you had some doubts. Who or what vanquished those doubts?
Walker went silent for a moment and seemed to really consider his answer; his time aboard Babylon 5 had been brief, but the lessons learnt in it's five mile long spinning shell would stay with him for a lifetime.
"The man who coached me, Caliban; he was a great inspiration to me," Walker finally admitted. Caliban was a wise old Alien, what race Walker couldn't tell you, who had fought in the ranks of the Mutai many years previous; when the tournament would be held of worlds throughout the League of Non-aligned worlds. He had befriended Smith and Garibaldi when the Mutaido decided the ring was not the place for a Human; a tradition that dated back to the 2230s when the Mutai tournament was fought between aliens before and after the Dilgar War, the exclusion of Earthers had been popular with the anti-Earth feeling that followed the war from those aliens fearing the humans having to much say in Galactic affairs. This friendship served Smith well. Even Walker would admit himself that he had become a little complacent, he wasn't in as good a shape as he could have been; but Caliban set him right and saw him to a Mutai victory, and the honourable stand-off with the Mutai champion: Gyor.
"He taught me the ways of the Mutai. The Way of the Warrior."
"Warrior? A very noble title in ancient times," the Rabbi commented, he was a man of universal peace; the thought of men tearing each other apart in the name of sport a little disconcerting, even though he did support his new friend Walker Smith's ambition.
"The Mutai served as a training ground for soldiers originally," Smith explained, he wasn't much for history; never had much appreciation for what had come before, and didn't care much for what came after, but the lessons that Caliban had taught he had listened to.
"It's lineage can apparently be traced back a thousand years, to some great war apparently."
The Rabbi nodded, noting the information in a little box marked "Walker Smith, Mutai" inside the great library in his mind.
"What next then?" Koslov asked, wanting to fill the silence that had engulfed their trio of seats.
"I'm getting off on Mars," Walker explained simply.
"I always said people heal better in real air," the Rabbi said half jokingly.
"I always say that too Rabbi, but I haven't got time to head back to Earth; I've been offered a boxing contract with a Mars promoter and he wants to meet me as soon as possible."
Walker hadn't admitted to Garibaldi he would be fighting so soon after the duel with Gyor, which had left his scarred and bruised, as he didn't want to alarm his friend, but he would admit it to the Rabbi; a man of Faith couldn't judge.
"As long as you feel ready to get back to work," the Rabbi said, an edge of concern in his voice, "Then I wish the best of luck in your career on Mars."
With their conversation spent, at least for the time being, Walker turned his head to the side and looked out into the reddish hell beyond the triple reinforced glass. And with the waves and curls reflecting in his eyes Walker slowly drifted off to sleep, to dream a dream about a new start; a new life on Mars, a genuine contractor who wanted him for his merit, not just his reputation, and would pay: WELL.

October 3rd, 2258

Narn Homeworld

Pa'Ko, a male Narn child; no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, should have been playing with friends; frolicking in the endless fields that once dominated Narn's agricultural landscape. Because of the Centauri, he was told, he didn't. Because of the Centauri the strict social structure that now ruled Narn, had become even stricted. Because of the Centauri, a now free Narn, had a wide divide between it's richer clansmen and it's poorer clansmen. Pa'Ko was the son of the poorer clansmen, one of the poorest in fact. His parents were actually so socially rejected they didn't even belong the society's "outer circle", those who lived in the slums of Hekba City; but worked within the City walls. His parents had been deemed wasters, no-gooders, and as Pa'Ko was told had been executed long ago.
The people telling the young boy all these things were the Thenta Ma'Kur, or Assassin's Guild once translated from Narnish into English. A secret organisation that operated primarily from the Narn homeworld. It's influence so far reaching in Narn society that they had people throughout the Regime; from Captains in the Gold Fleet, to ambassadors on distant worlds, and space stations. And where the Thenta Ma'Kur had influence, they were feared.
Pa'Ko, at this time, knew none of this. His adolescent mind didn't want to be bogged down with guild hierarchical posturing, or deeds of honour; he was quite content to simply be. And, of course, help the guild with any dealings they might have in the Hekba City slums, for a good payout. Although, yet to actually kill someone, Pa'Ko had had his hands bloodied many times by helping the Ma'Kur to find their man, and had readily started training with a guild elder in the ways of Narn martial arts. The day of October 3rd on the Earther's Gregorian calendar saw weather like it always was on the barren surface of Narn; high winds, followed by low winds, followed by mediocre winds, and constant dust storms. It also saw Pa'Ko meeting a man by the name of Ra'Gon, an elder in the Thenta Ma'Kur; and one who was most respected by his peers, and feared by all others. Pa'Ko, however, being young of age, and fearless of spirit, neither respected, nor feared this huge looming bulk of a man. Infact he greeted him neutrally.
"Are you Ra'Gon?" Pa'Ko asked, setting aside the piece of interestingly shaped rumble he had picked out of the collapsed building their meeting had been arranged.
The large Narn nodded, his thickly styled and heavily arranged body armour made little else possible.
"You are here to teach me?"
"You are here to learn," was Ra'Gon's response.
"As long as I get paid," Pa'Ko beemed, taking a few tentative steps down from the crumbling wall he'd perched himself atop. Ra'Gon's expression did not change as the young boy approached him, although he noted the boy's slight apprehension.
"Do I scare you boy?" Ra'Gon asked, his voice was old; raspy, that coupled with his heavy seat eyes told of a life of torment and struggle.
Pa'Ko shook his head; a lie. "No sir," he said stopping a few steps short of spitting distance.
Ra'Gon bent down to the boy's level and smiled; catching Pa'Ko off guard and sent him a few steps back.
"Rule one," Ra'Gon began; "Never lie to me again. Understand?"
The elderly Narn raised his body back up to a full standing position and grinned, he saw much potential in this one.
Pa'Ko nodded and retook the steps back, offering a classic Narn, fist-to-chest-then-release salute. Rather than returning the gesture Ra'Gon slapped Pa'Ko's hand away, "Never use that salute again!" he bellowed, even over the wind his yell could have been heard streets away.
Pa'Ko was definitely scared of him now. "Yes sir," Pa'Ko said from behind his wall of fear.
"Who taught you that anyway?"
"My father," Pa'Ko said, his expression neutral; it always was when he talked about his parents, he remembered very little of them.
"Your father? He was a waster, a nobody, why would he teach you the Regime military salute?"
Pa'Ko just shrugged. Ra'Gon moved on, had he really expected an answer from the young boy? "I will teach you… the ways of the world, the ways of the Thenta Ma'Kur, and the ways of the Warrior. The days ahead will not be easy, and you must study whilst doing separate assignments for the guild. But from now on, your pay will go directly to me."

Pa'Ko was about to kick up a fuss, created a stir, any response that wouldn't mean the loss of his sole form of income. "Do not worry boy," Ra'Gon continued, noting the boy's distress, "I will take from it my fee, and give you enough to maintain a standard of living."
"I am to live in the gutter where many of my old friends have died?" Pa'Ko said, he was having to raise his voice now; the winds were picking up, soon their conversation, or lesson, or whatever the hell it was, would have to be either discontinued or carried over into a sheltered area where they could wait out the storm.
"All Thenta Ma'Kur students are expected to live life as low as you can go, to give them a reminder of what life would be like for them and their families if they were to betray the guild," Ra'Gon said, also raising his voice.
Ra'Gon reached over and grabbed the boy by both arms. Pa'Ko, immediately alarmed by the suddenness of the assault, tried to wriggle free, but to no avail. When the young Narn stopped his feeble escape attempts Ra'Gon spoke, "You are my Macha'Kor, student of blood, be ready for a lesson at any moment."

With those words, and the burn of Pa'Ko's flesh from the growing bruise where the overpowering older Narn had gripped him a little to tightly, Ra'Gon took his leave into the now blustering sands of Hekba City's dusty solace. Pa'Ko, stood motionlessly, allowing himself a moment to consider whether this path was right for him. Then checking the contents of his pockets and finding only a single bloodcoin, decided anything that would keep his belly full, was a good path. And with that, he was gone as well, leaving the collapsing building; an old tavern, at the end of the street on the edge of the slum alone.