I’ve barely made it in time for Fanfic Friday, but in my defense, it’s Thanksgiving weekend here, and that means we’ve all been spending time with the relatives, getting some good quality time in. ;-) If you’re just joining the story now, I strongly recommend going back to Chapter 1 and working forward.
<< Back to Ch 1 . . . < Back to Ch 3 . . . Forward to Ch 5 (TBD)
THE THREE-EDGED SWORD
A Babylon 5/Highlander crossover
“Understanding is a three-edged sword.”
-Kosh, Vorlon Ambassador to Babylon 5
CHAPTER FOUR: The Unforgivable Act
‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!-
Why look’st thou so?’-With my cross-bow
I shot the ALBATROSS.
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”
It was a quiet morning in MedLab, affording Dr. Franklin the opportunity to search the station records for Miranda. He didn’t find much; she wasn’t renting quarters and was probably living Downbelow. And that was odd, because she didn’t need to rent quarters; in the wake of the Korolev accident, the survivors had all been offered temporary free housing until they got back on their feet. Miranda hadn’t been one of the lucky few to have come off on a shuttle, and doubtless had lost most of her belongings in the mad dash to the lifepods.
Franklin considered what Carson and MacLeod had said last night. They had been unwilling to go into detail, but it was clear the woman was in some kind of trouble. He was reluctant to pry too much; if he found out about legal difficulties, it might be something he’d be obliged to report, so it was probably best not to find out in the first place. It was entirely possible, however, and indeed likely that Miranda knew someone would be looking for her. So perhaps she had refused the offer of free housing not because it was cramped and spartan but because it was traceable. So the simple searches wouldn’t work. He didn’t need to involve security, however. He’d ask his contacts in Downbelow. He ran periodic free clinics Downbelow and had developed a good rapport with some of the people there. They wouldn’t rat somebody out to security, but if he explained that he was concerned about a patient from the Korolev, no doubt someone would be willing to help.
A bell chimed, reminding Franklin that Garibaldi would be stopping by soon to see the autopsy results on Matthew Sorenson. Franklin closed down his search on Miranda and pulled up the autopsy notes for review. It wasn’t complicated. The man had been killed in a fairly straightforward fashion — someone had made a single deep cut into his abdomen, slicing neatly through muscles and organs. It was probably a blessing that the killer had also bisected the descending aorta. The rapid blood loss had probably rendered Sorenson unconscious in seconds.
It wasn’t a knife wound, though. It was all done so cleanly that it had to have been done by a weapon that was very sharp, very long, and probably heavy. That better described a sword than a knife. Franklin shook his head as he considered the implications of that. Humans almost never used swords in this day and age, but several of the alien races aboard the station did, most notably the Centauri and the Narn. If Sorenson had been killed by an alien, it wouldn’t sit well with the Human community.
Fortunately, Franklin wouldn’t have to deal directly with any of the fallout. That would be Garibaldi’s problem.
The door to MedLab slid smoothly open. “Well, well, well,” he said as he looked up. “I was just thinking about you.”