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Earth! he thought. After all you’ve been through, you’re still a sight for sore eyes!
White Star 216 was on station near the remains of an orbital docking facility which had been heavily damaged during the final assault on Earth, the one which had deposed President Clark a month earlier. The facility had been a civilian cargo transfer point which elements of Earthforce loyal to Clark had pressed into service as part of a last stand. The past three weeks had consisted of rooting out the last of the Earthforce troops still holding out on the orbital station.
It had been a hard, brutal, deck-by-deck struggle; many on both sides died in vain—some for a cause already lost, others in an attempt to persuade their opposite numbers of this fact. But, the Rangers had prevailed.
John thought about the transformation that had taken place in the past two years. He had started out a typical college student, with the typical anti-authoritarian outlook on life. Clark’s rise to and lust for power had changed that. Too many of his friends had suddenly "disappeared" after talking with people wearing the NightWatch armbands…John had had enough. He withdrew from his classes at the University of Titan, took what money he had, and bought passage on a freighter to Anywhere But Here.
After three months of bouncing from system to system, and working odd jobs, John had ended up on Babylon 5—as good a place as any to find work and a ticket to somewhere else. Two weeks after John arrived, Clark placed a quarantine on the station. Even if he had had money (which he did not, thanks to the enterprising efforts of a Lurker with a sap who came at him from behind), John would not have been able to leave. Efforts to find work with the Dock Worker’s Guild had been unsuccessful; with no useable skills and still looking too clean-cut and well-fed to be a successful panhandler, John resorted to picking pockets and purses to survive. This new career lasted all of twelve hours…when he inadvertently picked the pocket of a Warrior Caste Minbari.
Eighteen hours after that, John had awakened in the station’s Medlab facility. An exceptionally tall Minbari was standing over him. His crest had been shaped into a pattern which reminded John of nothing so much as leaping flames. He wore brown robes which John thought he’d seen before, but couldn’t swear to it. The insignia above his left breast also looked vaguely familiar.
"My name is Durenn. I am of the Anla’shok. And I believe you tried to take something from me," the Minbari said in crisp, unaccented English.
John immediately recognized him as the one he’d tried to rob. A wave of panic crossed over his face.
"Don’t be afraid; you’ve taken nothing from me except a good beating. You’ve not been reported to Security and I’ve even taken the liberty of paying for your medical treatment. However, I do expect to be repaid—among my people, you now owe me a debt of honor," the Minbari—Durenn—told him.
John thought for a moment. I could refuse, but then he’d turn me over to Security and probably sue me for the Medlab bill on top of that. Or I could go along with him and run out at the first opportunity, but Granddad told me about the Minbari—his whole clan would be on top of me in no time! But then again, he didn’t have to do any of this. By all rights I should be somewhere in the waste reclamation system right now. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy!
"What do you want?" John asked. A wave of hesitation crossed over Durenn’s face. Durenn then caught himself and continued.
"My apologies. Lately that question has been frequently asked with a much deeper intent behind it. You look like somebody who could use steady employment, and perhaps passage off this station. If I thought you to be a hardened criminal I would never make this offer, but I can see into your spirit. Can you stand?" Durenn asked.
John immediately, with every bit of his will, attempted to get off the hospital bed. His mind fogged for a moment—probably a lingering concussion, he thought—and his legs seemed unsteady beneath him. But he stood.
"Very good! You have passed the first of many tests. But there is much ahead of you. Here, take this to steady yourself," Durenn told him, very pleased.
Durenn reached inside his robe and produced a hand-sized cylindrical metal object. A near-imperceptible twitch of his hand caused it to expand into a 2-meter long metal staff. He handed it to John. The staff seemed at once heavy and weightless in his hands, and somehow alive. Clearly it was meant to do more than help temporarily crippled humans down the hall. Even with his complete lack of martial arts or other combat training John sensed that the staff was, at heart, a weapon.
"This is the den’bok, the most prized weapon and possession of the Anla’shok. You will become very acquainted with its proper use in the coming months. For now, however, it will suffice as a cane." Durenn told him. Although there was no laughter in the Minbari’s voice, John could sense a hint of humor behind his comments. Other than handing John the den’bok, Durenn offered no other assistance.
"Who are these Anla’shok you keep talking about? Is that some sort of Minbari thing?" John asked as they walked/hobbled out of Medlab. A sharp glance from Durenn caused an alarmed med tech to keep her distance and not call for Security.
"The Anla’shok are the very essence of what it means to be Minbari—and human, as you will soon learn. In your language, we are called the Rangers. And we are engaged in a struggle far deeper and far more complex than you can possibly imagine…"
By the end of the day (and after, at Durenn’s
insistence, personally returning the belongings of his three previous marks—not
that he particularly minded doing that) John was aboard a Minbari cruiser
receiving treatment from another human wearing similar attire to Durenn’s.
And wondering just what bizarre turn his life would take next…
