The alarm went off, and Susan Ivanova rolled over and swatted the panel button like it was an annoying tarantula. A few seconds later, an overly cheerful com­puter voice informed her, "Downloading messages and schedule."

She stared bleary-eyed at the ceiling, wondering if it would be possible to grab an extra forty winks. Then she remembered—she had a full shift of work ahead of her, followed by the station's memorial service for G'Kar, and then a visit to the Narn Homeworld, which would probably take at least a week, counting travel time.

How much blame would Narn officials place on the personnel of Babylon 5 for this tragedy? Ivanova already felt considerable guilt, because the murder—or accident, in the unlikely event it turned out to be an accident—had happened on her watch. It had happened within her sphere of control, in the space between B5 and the jump gate. Was there anything she could have done to prevent it? In hindsight, it was easy to say that they should have prevented G'Kar from taking off on a long trip in a solo craft, but what could they have done to stop him?

G'Kar's transport had sat idle for months, and there was no way of knowing when it had been sabotaged. It was clear from the story about Du'Rog that G'Kar had been courting disaster. Even his most trusted subordinate had admitted that he deserved to be killed for what he had done to Du'Rog. Vengeance was a strong emotion, as Ivanova knew from first-hand experience. If she had been raised in a culture that honored revenge killing, she might have hunted down those responsible for her mother's death.

She dragged herself out of bed and made a small pot of coffee. It was important, she decided, to win back Na'Toth's trust. In all likelihood, the Narn attaché would be on the same ship with her and Garibaldi, and they would desperately need a guide on Homeworld, some­body they could trust.