January 29th, 2259
Mars Colony
13:00
George's, or as it had become known locally as the "ISN Bar", because the owner; a Asian looking gentleman would not spring extra for the sports channels, for the free-to-view ISN network was all that the bar's monitors ever showed, was busy for this time of day. It had been an annoying gimmick at first, one that drove regular pub dwellers away, but it eventually drew in a new crowd, one that enjoyed a quiet drink and a chat with friends over non-stop drinking until you passed out and hoped not to swallow your own tongue.
The large open plan main area seated up to a score of people around half a dozen small tables with Earthwood chairs. The bar, which was located on a slightly raised platform was on the other side of this seating area to the main doorway, and was lined with 1950s looking black leather bar stools. Monitors littered the bar, even on the left hand wall from the bar as you went into the toilets. Seated at the end of the bar without an ISN feed Caliban took tentative sipped from his crystal clear synthetic water he'd ordered about an hour ago. The reason he was killing his day in this particular bar was for the good of his friend Walker Smith. An agitated version of his friend was all Caliban had seen since he'd arrived on Mars, which wasn't exactly a rewarding experience after the long jump from Babylon 5. Last night had been particular bad, possibly because of Walker's defeat to Conchenkov, and partly because Smith had seemed preoccupied with speaking with that Senator at Topside Promotion's main event. Afterward Caliban had managed to get the name of the place Smith had arranged to meet the Senator again, but not the time; which is why he'd had to nurse that one drink for over an hour. With the cloak just about to strike for thirteen hundred hours Mars Standard Time the bar's saloon style doors swung open, admitting Walker and Senator Manning. Caliban turned his back immediately, although he was trying to do his friend some good he doubted very much Walker would appreciate Caliban's presence.
Smith and Manning took a seat at one of the available tables in the main area of the bar, with the Senator gesturing an attractive young waitresses over who took their drinks order. Although Caliban tried not to overhear their conversation it was hard not to with the too-used-to-public-speaking voice of Manning's tended to carry uncomfortably fair. The topic was boxing at first, but as time began to roll by, Smith, for some inexplicable reason was continually trying to steer the conversation towards the Senator's political ambitions, policies etc. Caliban had just finish his beverage and was about to call it a day, deciding maybe his friend didn't need him snooping around in his business after all, maybe he had changed, maybe it was this place that changed him, when he caught sight of a suspiciously fidgety man was sat at the table over from the Senator and Smith. Caliban moved along the bar and took a different seat where he could get a better view of the entire proceedings. The man sat at the table in the very centre of the room had declined any sort of drink, instead he sat nervously at his table, his briefcase laying shut on his knees, gripping it tightly. Perhaps a businessman nervous before meeting an important new client? A young intern hoping for a good interview? The possibilities were endless, but Caliban didn't believe any of them. His departure would be postponed at least until that man had left.
A few more minutes went by, the man had noticed Caliban watching him, and had become even more nervous looking. The senator and Smith's conversation seemed to be drawing to a close. Manning was visibly more than a little tired of Smith's subject turning, especially as it always went back to the Senator's work; a subject Caliban conjectured he was glad to get away from just once in a while. Caliban was put on alert again when the nervous looking man finally made a move. The man rose, making a very definite move to leave his suitcase stood upright near the leg of his table. He then tucked in his chair and headed for the exit. Why would he leave his briefcase? He'd seemed very adamant about holding onto it a minute ago, and why would the man come here meet no-one then simply leave? Did he work for the Senator's security? Maybe he was here on a date and got stood up? Caliban was sure there was a reasonable answer and he was going to get it. He waiting for the nervous man to leave the bar, before getting up himself. He threw a credit chit down on the bar, suddenly remembering his species' reputation for being poor tippers, and followed the man out. In the hustle and bustle of one of the biggest commuter routes in Dome One made tracking the man difficult but not impossible. Caliban was just in time to see his target duck into a small alley off the beaten track. Caliban raced, as quick as a man of his age could, through the ensemble crowd and into the alley stopping dead at it's mouth in-time to see the nervous looking man being handed a credit chit from none other than Talbot. The intrusion on their secret meeting alerted the two men, and Talbot looked up to see Caliban.
"You old fool. Your loyalty will be your undoing. It's too late Caliban. Too late for Smith, for the senator, and for you. But not too late for Mars Independence."
Caliban's face turned to one of horror as he realized what Talbot's plans were. Being an alien Caliban had little to do with Human politics, but it was the worse kept secret in the galaxy that the Earth Alliance had a poor political footing on it's Martian colony. A fact often touted by news networks from the Non-Aligned Worlds, or Centauri, or Narn, to make Earth look a little weaker than it's powerful warships implied. Caliban put two and two together, and got a definite four as an answer. Rushing again Caliban made it to George's bar to warn his friend, to warn the senator, and too warn that attractive young waitress he was sure was trying to make it in acting part-time, that Free Mars planned a terrorist action. He was panting hard as he ran through the saloon like doors, glancing immediately toward where Manning and Smith would be sat. But he saw only the Senator sat there, twiddling his thumbs. Smith's absence immediately worried him, but a turn of his head answered the question of his friend's whereabouts as he saw Walker enter the men's toilets. And then, Caliban never thought about anything again. He would never again be worried about his friends, never again visit them on Mars, on Babylon 5, back on homeworld, anywhere. Because in that instant what Caliban had been about to warn them about happened. The suitcase bomb exploded in an unforgiving inferno that engulfed the bar and the immediate surroundings. Screams of the people lucky enough to be just outside the immediate blast range, but not lucky enough to escape the flinging of debris, soon drowned out all else.
That night ISN would cover the story of the Free Mars bomb that detonated in a bar in Dome One, but George's "ISN Bar" wouldn't be there to broadcast it anymore.
October 17th, 2259
Narn Homeworld
The last night the population of Hekba City's people slept free was interrupted at around oh-three-hundred hours when the bombings started. Spurred on by several military successes on outlying Narn colonies and outposts the Centauri war machine now sat in orbit around the Narn homeworld, their mass drivers in place and working around the clock heaving the great mass of comets and asteroids hurtling towards the surface. The blasts along were obliterating thousands of square miles of developed land, agricultural lands, industrialized lands, populated lands, all destroyed. But that wasn't the worst of it, the dust that had only just started to lay still from the last Centauri invasion was once again through up into the winds of Narn created what was almost an eternal night on the dying world. In the midst of this Pa'Ko, the littlest Thenta Ma'Kur, sat deep inside a guild bunker with his mentor Ra'Gon and a few other surviving assassins hoping to ride out the storm. Nobody spoke a word, everyone knew what was happening. What their world, if it survived this bombardment, was in for. Ra'Gon remembered the original Centauri occupation; he had been a young man when he'd killed his first Centauri, and he hoped he'd been a very old man indeed before he'd have to kill another.
There was a loud bang, the ground shook, and several more kilograms of sands fell from the increasingly unstable looking ceiling. Pa'Ko looked to his mentor for guidance, for reassurance, and found known in his eyes for the old man was as terrified as the young man. Pa'Ko had been on several successful missions since having to kill Ja'Nar, never again had he let his feelings, his curiosity of his pity get in the way of the job at hand. Ra'Gon had never brought up the murder of Ja'Nar again with Pa'Ko, perhaps he was afraid of discussing what Pa'ko had learnt from the former friend of his father's, or maybe he just considered the matter closed. Thenta Ma'Kur training, Pa'Ko knew, was never over until he challenged his master. Pa'Ko knew Ra'Gon was a formidable fighter, even in his advancing years, and didn't look forward to the day he would face him to claim his rightful place as a master of the Thenta Ma'Kur.
Suddenly there was a louder bang, and the ceiling shook even more violently. "We will not be able to stay here long," said an assassin from across the bunker.
"It was never meant as a permanent measure," Ra'Gon assured him. "We have no food or water for with which to replenish our bodies."
"I think the Centauri attacks will end soon," Pa'Ko piped up, someone had to be hopeful didn't they? "If they continue the attacks much longer there will be little of our world left to conquer."
"Who says they want anything left to conquer a kid? Maybe they're just content with wiping out our race."
It was a sobering thought that drowned out any further communication. "When the bombings cease I will signal a shuttle. It will meet us here," Ra'Gon told everyone, his status as elder of the guild putting wait behind his words.
"The shuttles are as safe as we are. So we if survive, so will the shuttles and their pilots. We will survive, and we will be part of the new resistance."
It seemed to everyone Ra'Gon had a long term plan, it was comforting for most, but for Pa'Ko it failed to inspire confidence as he suspected his mentor did indeed not have a plan at all.
Then there was another loud bang, this time closer. The ground shook violently as the asteroid's impact wave tore up the planet's surface, and by extension things dug into that planet's surface. The timbers that had been holding up the failing ceiling finally gave way, burying four of the ten assassins under a hundred tons of sand. In the confusion everyone ran for the exit all at once, most made it out and Pa'Ko found himself the only one left standing in the room. He looked about frantically for his mentor, he spotted him; pinned by a fallen piece of timber.
"Ra'Gon!" Pa'Ko exclaimed, the genuine concern evident in his quivering voice. "No! Please! You've got to get free."
"Here," Ra'Gon said using his one free arm to hand Pa'Ko a communicator, "Signal for the shuttles, we have no time left."
"But – "
"Do it! Now! Damnit Pa'Ko if this is the last instruction your mentor will ever give you don't you want to follow it through!"
Pa'Ko nodded and signalled for pick-up. G'Quon be thanked the communiqué got through and a pilot's cool calm voice reverberated through the communicator is response.
"The shuttle will not be long," Ra'Gon said, even in his last moments he wanted to look after Pa'Ko as if he were his son.
"Ja'Nar, did we mention the name of the third member of the trio they served aboard three different ships in the Red Fleet together?"
Pa'Ko's silence gave Ra'Gon his answer. "It was me Pa'Ko. I… I…" Ra'Gon couldn't say it. All these months of teaching his old friend's son the ways of the Thenta Ma'Kur, not because he thought his friend wanted his son to be an assassin, but because he knew his friend wanted his son to have a chance at survival and that's what Thenta Ma'Kur training meant. A thousand times he'd rehearsed telling Pa'Ko the truth, that he was the one that had contacted the Centauri, would he understand that the destruction of the T'La'Navas, and the disgrace his father endured was not part of the plan? You could never trust the Centauri for anything.
"I can't leave you," Pa'Ko said, his eyes jumped from where Ra'Gon's injured and failing body was impaled by the fallen beam, to where the last of the surviving Thenta Ma'Kur were boarding a shuttle.
"You can Pa'Ko. I've done some awful things, and I'm forever in your debt. This is the only way I can think of repaying you." With that said, and a hope that Pa'Ko would one day realize the truth, and forgive him, Ra'Gon withdrew his hand from that of his student and closed his eyes; embracing death's cold clasp.
"Forget the kid!" the pilot was saying, "We've got to go now." Just as he spoke the hovering shuttle shook slightly, the telltale sign another body had come aboard. "Scratch that, he's aboard!" said another from the rear compartment. "Get us the hell out of here!" said a third.
There, squashed amongst his Thenta Ma'Kur brothers the no-longer intraining assassin Pa'Ko left his mentor, his only friend, to die. Of all the people he'd killed so far, and of all the people he would kill in the future, Ra'Gon's face he would never forget; he would never let the memory be diluted of the man that betrayed his father. Forgiveness was for fools, he decided, looking around at his brethren. The mix of cutthroats and murderers had a profound effect on Pa'Ko's way of thinking, because if his mentor could have betrayed him; who else could. And the last thing he decided then and there, was that he would never trust anyone ever again.
