From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Sat Jun 15 13:51:13 1996 Date: Thu, 30 May 1996 11:19:40 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Guest of Honour." - Complete. In response to many (okay, TWO) requests for me to post the whole sequence of events behind Garibaldi's joke in "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" part 8, I've turned it from a set of notes into a one-part story. The whole thing is essentially unchanged from the 'on-paper' idea that started this. (How self-important can I get? Now MY stories are spawning spin-offs!) PS. Feedback is obligatory, or I'll start with the nun-jokes! David B. --- "Moral garbage on legs" --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Guest of Honour." ------------------ [Prologue: 1300 hours] G'Kar caught sight of Mollari across the length of the Plaza and swore quietly. The Narn had urgent business, and well he knew that were he to come within earshot of his wretched, Centauri counterpart, Londo would let slip some insult which he could not with honour ignore. Then Mollari would play the injured party for whatever audience he could gather and the argument would rage on, and he - G'Kar - would be made late. The reptilian ambassador considered his options, and had just decided on an alternative route when he finally noticed Mollari's pained expression. All thoughts of urgency where forgotten as G'Kar pondered what might be wrong. His curiosity overcame his caution and he approached. "Ambassador Mollari!" G'Kar said loudly in greeting. Londo who had overlooked his approach leaped a foot in response. The Narn put on a mask of false concern and continued, "Why Ambassador, you look most upset! What CAN be the matter? Something serious I hope!" He appended his most courteous smile to the comment. Mollari looked at him sourly. "Yes, yes! Gloat and be done with it, then leave me in peace!" he replied, resignedly. "It IS serious!" a joyful G'Kar exclaimed, clapping his hands, "Oh do tell! A fatal disease, perhaps, or is your hair falling out?" Londo glowered at his tormentor, then slapped the glass he was sipping from down in front of G'Kar. "Taste that!" he ordered. G'Kar took the glass delicately between two fingers and, after wiping his gauntleted finger round the rim, took a sip. Then puzzled, he took another, larger, one. "It seems perfectly all right to me!" he remarked. "All right!?" yelled Mollari, "Are you mad? You do know what that is?" "Yes," the Narn answered, "it's water!" "Water!" Londo agreed savagely, "Yes, I'm drinking water!" He made to take the glass back from G'Kar, then changed his mind and ordered a fresh one. "PLANTS drink water, not Centauri!" he spat bitterly. "Oh." G'Kar commented sadly, "And I thought it might be something serious." He shook his head. "This IS serious." Mollari countered, shaking the fresh drink in his fellow ambassador's face, "Do you know what FISH do in this stuff?" "Oh, yes." G'Kar confirmed, "The same thing we Narn used to do in all that wine we had to press for you when we were slaves!" He struck a pose of mock superiority. "Why my own bladder has undoubtedly contributed to some of the finest vintages in your cellar!" he noted. Londo went sickly white. "But not for very long!" he retorted, weakly. It occurred to him that his three `beloved' wives would probably have drunk half his entire stock by now. Gathering strength from the idea, he chuckled. "Oh, go away!" he snapped at the Narn, irritably. "Oh no!" G'Kar argued, "Now I am intrigued at why you are doing something you so obviously detest!" "I am practising for our next treaty negotiation!" Londo growled. The Narn just smiled patiently and ignored the attempted distraction. "All right!" said the caving Mollari, "You know I hate it when you start looking all smug!" He pulled himself upright and straightened his waistcoat. "I have the honour of receiving the venerable Lord Hypoba this afternoon." Londo remarked, obviously imitating some past communication, "He looks forward to a tour of the station and an entertaining evening spent in the company of our Ambassador." "Hypoba?" G'Kar muttered, unable to place the name. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard of him, he is so rarely to be found more than a minute from the nearest bar." "Not an uncommon failing among Centauri, I notice." "Meaning me!?" shouted the outraged Mollari, "I am temperance itself compared to Hypoba! His capacity for alcohol is legendary!" Londo subsided. Tapping his glass, he added, "And that is my problem! Drunkard or not, a bad report from Lord Hypoba and my career here is finished. And NOTHING upsets Hypoba more than having his drinking partners pass out on him. It means he has to start paying, you see." "I see, that IS a problem!" G'Kar agreed, "So you hope to spend the day drinking `extract of fish' while Hypoba gets a decent head-start from the in-flight refreshments!" Resignedly, Londo answered, "Yes, but I'd be better off drinking poison and sparing myself from the humiliation." Suddenly he brightened as an idea occurred to him. "A diplomatic incident! That would work!" he cried joyfully. Turning to the Narn he suggested, "What about it G'Kar? You could declare war! Or move in on one of our colony worlds, I could give you a list of the least defended?" G'Kar just shook his head, slowly but firmly. "Well what about a PERSONAL attack? You could surprise me in that corridor over there and beat me up, I wouldn't press charges." "No." replied G'Kar, grinning broadly. "What about if I let you kick me in the head, eh?" Mollari cajoled, pointing at his temple. G'Kar appeared to ponder the matter. Slowly he started nodding. "No." Mollari gave up. "You are completely without mercy, you know that?" "Coming from a Centauri, that's high praise indeed." G'Kar replied acidly. Resolutely, he slapped the table. "Well I shall enjoy hearing all about it tomorrow!" G'Kar commented, "In fact, I can hardly wait." He set off on his way, laughing heartily. Londo scowled at the Narn's retreating back. "Perhaps if I send Vir first, with my apologies at being delayed or something, Hypoba can drink HIM into a stupor before he starts on me!" [Post-mortem: 2200 hours] Garibaldi felt the stubble on his chin ruefully and stifled a yawn. He had been about to knock-off for the night when the call had come in. He could still hear his bed calling to him. With a sigh of resignation, he walked into the security office. Lou leaned against the far wall, he looked just as worn out as Garibaldi felt, though Michael suspected it was for different reasons. On a chair in the middle of the room sat the fattest Centauri the chief had ever seen. The alien had a red face and even redder nose and sweated the slothful perspiration of someone for whom just living is laborious. Garibaldi raised an eyebrow at Lou. "This is the guy, Chief!" Welch confirmed, "We got a complaint from one of the waitresses in the Dark Star that some Centauri was causing trouble." "Trouble?" roared the Centauri in a thickly accented whine. His voice was unusually high-pitched and Garibaldi just KNEW he was fast going to get sick of hearing it. "Only if paying a pretty girl a compliment is trouble!" "Yeah, well if you'd stuck to talking we wouldn't be here!" Lou countered. Garibaldi signalled for him to let it go. "He took to pinching their butts as they went past." the security officer explained, "Then when one of them complained, he went all apologetic and offered them a hundred credit tip if they got his money card out of his waistcoat pocket." The Centauri collapsed into peals of laughter at some unshared joke. Garibaldi shook his head. "Am I missing something?" he asked his officer. "It's, er..." Welch added hesitantly, "It's an anatomy thing. You know, like sticking a c-note in your flies!" Lou went red. "So anyway, I bring him in on a `drunk and disorderly' and he starts yelling about being the honoured guest of Ambassador Mollari, so I rang you." "I appreciate it!" muttered Garibaldi, sarcastically, "Have you informed Londo yet?" "Well Vir Cotto was with this guy when I arrested him and he said the ambassador would be along in a minute, and there was no answer from his quarters, so you could say he's been told." Lou frowned, "Come to think of it, Mr. Cotto didn't look that sober either!" Garibaldi looked down at the still giggling Centauri. "Yeah, well honoured guest or not, even Londo doesn't get THIS drunk! You got a name?" "He calls himself `Lord High Pooh Bear'!" Lou supplied. "That's Lord Hypoba!" the Centauri corrected. "Whatever!" "And," Hypoba continued, much affronted, "I NEVER get drunk!" "Well you don't look sober to me!" Garibaldi countered, "So we'll just let the breathalyser decide!" Lou shook his head, "No good, sir! His non-human biochemistry just makes all the lights go at once, I can't get a reading." "Right!" the chief snapped, "We'll do this the old fashioned way!" He stalked round his desk and wrenched open one of the drawers. Rummaging through it he found a white `china' pencil and quickly drew a `chalk-line' down the middle of the office floor. "Walk down that line and back." he instructed, Lord Hypoba struggled to his feet. He straightened his bulging waistcoat and, with head held high, confidently walked the course Garibaldi had set. "See?" he said, grandiosely, "I am not drunk." "That's just the first test." Garibaldi improvised, "Each test is made harder than the last until either you fail, and we find out how drunk you are, or you pass them all, in which case you're sober." Michael thought to himself, "Put your arms out straight from your sides, and alternately bring each hand round to touch your nose. Like this." Garibaldi demonstrated. Without hesitation the Centauri noble copied him, swinging one hand in and then the other in a crazy semaphore. "Now walk." Michael ordered. Still swinging his arms, Hypoba paced up and down the line on the floor. For effect, he did it again. "I am not drunk!" he repeated. "We're nowhere near proving that yet!" the chief countered, "Now hop. Use either leg, it doesn't matter!" Sighing loudly, the immense Centauri began hopping back and forth still touching his nose. His whole body wobbled with each bounce like a water-filled balloon. "Now will you admit that I am NOT drunk!?" Hypoba roared. "Only one more test." Garibaldi admitted cheerfully, "You just have to sing `Mary had a little lamb'." As Hypoba hopped away from him he began frantically signalling Welch to control himself. Lou looked desperately around the room as he struggled to hold in the laughter. "But I don't know it!" Hypoba complained, still hopping. "Well I suppose we can bend the routine a little." Michael conceded, "Just sing something you do know. A bit of your favourite opera or something." "Very well," the Centauri agreed, pompously adding, "I shall give you my famous rendition of the third act of `Robu Planta'. `Vornu SAL amoran! Gethsa SUM Planta!'..." Hypoba continued his uneven progress along the line, his arms windmilling and his piping voice cutting through the air like a diva's." Mollari stormed into the office like a force of nature. His face was set in it's most affronted expression and the ambassador's inhumanly long canines glistened as though they were waiting for the chief's blood. "MISTER GARIBALDI, I must PROTEST..." Londo started, then stopped, dead, mid-sentence. Very slowly, he turned through ninety degrees on the spot and watched unbelieving as his guest bounced his merry way across the room. So caught up in his singing was Hypoba, that he had failed to notice the ambassador's arrival. With equal care, Mollari turned back to face the security chief. "Great Maker!" he swore, "Mr. Garibaldi, get him into a cell quickly! If G'Kar were ever to see him like this I'd NEVER hear the end of it!" He spun to face Hypoba. "And you!" the Ambassador snapped. Startled the noble came to a halt. "If you can't hold your drink, then DON'T drink in public! You, you... You aren't fit to be seen with!" Humiliated, the ambassador charged out of the office without a backwards look. Hypoba struggled to fathom what had just occurred. "I say." he murmured. Garibaldi looked over at Welch, who appeared to be losing a very painful battle with his lungs. "Well you heard the Ambassador!" Michael prompted, "His honoured guest, gets to be tonight's `guest of honour'." The tears rolled from Lou's eyes as he escorted the now THOROUGHLY sober Centauri to the cells. [The End.] ---------------------------------------------------------------------------