Tangled Intersections (3 page)

He stepped forward
automatically, not wishing to be delayed any longer and stopped
short as another whoosh, and another blur, followed by third
whizzed by him. Then a fourth and one more. By his count, five
bodies had passed in front of his eyes, all blown to bits, to be
reassembled in close to their original form in some unknown
destination. The sheer poetry of it struck him. Each person,
reduced to their elemental particles, traveling near the speed of
light. How did they feel when scattered apart? Did each little cell
feel its own demise or even more alive now that it had been freed
from its restrictive form? He wondered and stood there blinking for
several seconds after the red light had changed back to blue and
the crowd around him had started moving. As the unit shut down and
went through it cooling process, he found the sound soothing,
mesmerizing. Almost like a song –
a
lullaby
- made up of whispered
screams.

The soft cooing noise tamped down his
nerves, allowed him to think clearly once more. Taking a deep
breath, relieved of his earlier emotional turmoil, he walked
casually back to his luxury accommodations, humming softly to
himself the unfamiliar tune. When he arrived at his quarters, he
found a note recorded from C35374, stating the only other
belongings from the shuttle had been delivered for his inspection.
He walked inside, saw the blue duffle bag resting on the coffee
table and circled it cautiously, deciding in the end it was better
left alone.

He simply couldn’t afford another
shock that day.

It would have to wait until
tomorrow.

Nidi Station

Habitation Zone E5

After rummaging around in the pile of
clothes heaped on the floor he managed to change into something
that fit marginally better, then headed to the main observation
deck. Here the restaurants, merchants and professional offices were
gathered in a central place. A mish-mash of cultures, vendors and
scents, heavily mixed with stale air and boredom. Perhaps it was a
feature of all stations that boredom eventually set in for its
long-term inhabitants. For Grison, ennui was exactly what he
desired.

Entering the bar, he
parked himself on a stool and ordered an ale. He wasn’t sure what
to expect but it sure as hell wasn’t the tumbler of frothing
fluorescent green liquid the bartender plopped down by his left
elbow. His stomach lurched as he eyed it, reticent to give up even
one credit for such a foul looking concoction. But a quick
examination of the bar’s occupants showed them chugging it down
heartily, and none of them had fallen over.
Yet.

With a sigh he picked up the glass and
sniffed. It smelled like a combination of Earth grass and
overcooked ham. He swore his brain contracted on impact, scuttling
toward the back of his skull to cower. But he dutifully took a sip
– a small one – and swallowed. When severe convulsions did not
immediately commence, he licked his lips and tasted it again. On
the second try, the flavor changed to minty-sweet, a bit strong for
his taste and it certainly wouldn’t pass for ale in most parts of
the galaxy but here, on this half derelict outpost it seemed to fit
right in. Sucking in a deep breath, he slapped his credits on the
table. The bartender eyed him cautiously as if checking to see if
he’d change his mind. When Grison did not, he picked up the card
and ran it through the processor.

“
Open an account?” the
server asked in Universal.

“
Sure. Might as well.” He
lifted his glass in salute, brought it to his lips and drank some
more. With every swig it went down cooler, easier, slipping down
his throat like candy. Within minutes he ordered another.
Why not? I don’t have anywhere else to
be.

Not interested in
socializing, he took round number two and wandered through the bar
alone, stopping to gaze out the portals. Nidi Station, with all its
old-fashioned technology, was one of the first to reside next to a
remnant. Grison had watched the informational video on the white
dwarf, Mira Tri Lucius, before leaving but it didn’t quite do the
former five solar mass star justice. At only a fraction of its
former luminosity, it still kicked out plenty of residual light and
enough heat to keep the thermal exchangers busy. Grison stared at
it, fascinated by the infinitesimally slow death taking place
before him.
What would it be like to take
six billion years to die?

A loud laugh shook him from his
daydream. Two Umganian station mechanics were holding a loud
pissing contest to his left. Frowning into his sudsy beer, he grit
his teeth and waited for them to shut their traps.

“
I saw it. With my own
eyes.”

“
You weren’t even on C
that morning, you scandakerous dog. Even if you were, your eyes
were still green from the night before.” The larger Umganian raised
his ale pointedly.

“
But I saw him. I did.”
The smaller one leaned closer. “He is small, about a metric high,”
he held his hands out, one above the other, separated by an Earth
foot or so. “His skin as green as this ale.”

The other drained his ale, slammed the
empty glass on the table and scoffed. “Nah. You dinna see him then.
He’s not green. He’s black.”

“
He’s green!”

“
His
clothes
are green.”

“
No, they’re
red
.”

Grison scrubbed his face, wishing like
hell they’d burst a blood vessel. But as the bartender brought them
both refills, he doubted that would happen soon.

“
And, he was on the other
side of the conduit, standing right behind the force field when
those people came tumbling through.”

He made a derisive sound and motioned
with a big meaty hand, pointing toward the plate metal grating.
“Standing, eh? How’d you see him, if he’s only so high?”

“
He was floating. Yeah,
that’s how it was.” The smaller of the two nodded, affirming his
explanation. “Then, after the accident, after that guy just walked
into the transport line, he was gone. Poof.” He made a fist and
then exploded his fingers outward. “Vanished.”

The other man shook his head. His
voice was gruff, laced with liquor. “Ale dreams, that’s
all.”

“
Tell that to the guy
sticking halfway out the wall.”

A trickle of interest skittered down
Grison’s vertebrae. He turned and addressed the Umganians. “You’re
talking about the man who died in the transporter?”

“
Yeah.” The larger one
took another pull and then put down his beer. “What’s it to you?
Did you know the guy?”

With both of them looking at him, his
throat constricted, making it difficult to get words out. “No, I,
uh…was just curious.”

“
Well, it’s nothing you
ever want to see,” the smaller one said. “Ending up with the top
half of your body buried in the station looks quite
painful.”

“
It wouldn’t hurt,” the
other one argued. “You’d be dead instantly.”

Grison shuddered. “No way to bring you
back, then? Can’t they just … re-transport you again?”

The bigger one rocked when he snorted.
“Hell no. In this old station? By the time they sent you through
the coils again, you’d be nothing but Bay-Jiy burger when you came
out the other end.”

The smaller one laughed, sloshing his
beer on the table. “So true. God, that’s funny.”

“
Then why the
hell
do people use
it?”

That got him a shrug. “Folks miss
their flights, or just want to jump start to the nearest ship to
the station.” He blinked. “We don’t always get light speed vessels
here. Sometimes people are stuck a while.”

“
They start to go a little
crazy.” The smaller one nodded. He drained his glass and held it
out for another.

“
And then they start
seeing things.” The larger Umganian’s voice had lowered several
octaves and the darkeners in the room created shadows on his cheeks
and jowl, carving a menacing luminous visage. As if he was going to
tell the dirtiest, most evil secret the universe ever
knew.

Despite the quiver of fear carving a
path down his spine, Grison leaned closer.

“
Yeah. Like that one guy
did.” His buddy said.

“
You said
you
saw it. Are you
changing your mind now?”

“
No. I only meant that the
guy in the wall had seen ‘em.”

Grison frowned, his eyebrows lowered
in consternation. If these two performed their mechanic duties as
well as they conversed, it was no damn wonder the station had so
many accidents. “Seen who?”

There was a moment of silence in which
neither Umganian said a word. In fact, the entire room seemed to
have gone silent. The hairs on Grison’s neck stood up and his
forehead broke out a sweat. He glanced toward the exit, his urge to
run intensifying with each passing second.

Finally, the smaller one leaned closer
to the middle of the table and murmured, “Marvin the
Martian.”

Grison’s head snapped back
and his jaw dropped. “Marvin the Martian? Come on. That’s – that’s
a
cartoon
. An old
Earth cartoon. It’s not even
real
.”

“
It is
here
.” The larger one’s bulk swelled
in direct proportion to his chilling tone. He too, drained his
glass and set it back on the table. Fingering the cup, he raised
his eyes to Grison. “In fact here, it’s an omen.”

The other nodded.

He canted closer to Grison
and hissed, “He’s the last thing you see before you
die
.” He shouted the
last word in full gravelly tone.

Grison jumped at the sound and both
Umganians burst into uproarious laughter. Around him, the rest of
the bar had joined in and the sound rang off the room’s metallic
rafters. It startled him so badly that bile sloshed in his stomach
and the hand holding the remainder of his second ale trembled.
About half the green liquid spilled onto the floor and he stared at
it, horrified. Green ale. Little green men. Omens of death. He
snapped his head up and looked at the two smart asses in front him,
seething, afraid, confused.

Behind them in the light of the
slow-dying star an image floated by. A small, hazy object about a
metric foot tall. It moved quickly, and vanished before Grison
could turn his head and follow it. But the vision had hit a nerve
and left it raw. The glass slipped from his hand and crashed to the
floor, the sound lost in the din of the bar patron’s chatter. His
stomach heaved, wanting to empty, the threat of the action sending
sweat pouring profusely down his cheek. He stumbled to the restroom
with his eyes half-closed, swallowing down disgust and vomit. When
he reached the toilet, he let loose.

The green ale had formed some kind of
sticky gel. It coated his hands and his throat, slamming it shut so
he could hardly breathe. Desperate to get air, he rose, clutching
his guts and hustled to the main hallway. His vision blurry, he
could make out few details with any accuracy. He swore a Parnatheon
Flesh Eater passed by him, followed by two pair of Mourning Doves.
To his right the letters on the hallway signs seemed twisted. The
ones on the left he couldn’t even see. Swallowing down more green
bile, he made his way to the one bearing the medic sign in the
Universal language. At least he hoped that’s what it was, because
if he traveled any further, he might collapse and die.

“
Help me,” he garbled out.
The goo had gathered in his airway, too much sludge to dislodge,
making his speech a scratchy mess.

The B’tok O’hr physician that appeared
didn’t seem fazed by his appearance at all. “Ah. What is it today?
Ingested a bit too much of the green ale?”

Just the mention of it
stoked his ire. “What the
hell
is that stuff?”

“
Leftover chemical
burn-off from the wastewater system, I’ve heard.”

What remained in his stomach flew up
his windpipe, followed shortly by the contents of his upper
intestines. The wrenching contractions ripped through his guts like
tiny machetes, leaving only pain and emptiness in their
wake.

“
Now, tell me your name,
sir. I’ll just look you up in our system and get your
details.”

He eyed the doctor sitting patiently
behind his desk, sending him an angry stare. Didn’t the man see he
was dying? “Grison. Maynard.” His stomach flexed once more, and
black spots danced in front of his vision. At this rate the damn
stuff would poison him before the jerk off of a doctor left his
seat.

After some light tapping on the
keypad, the B’tok O’hr smiled. “Mr. Grison. Very good. I believe I
have everything I need here to help you out. Now, if you’ll just
affix your thumb print here…”

Grison lurched toward it,
miscalculated, and landed flat on his face. He didn’t possess the
strength to rise.

Unperturbed, the doctor grabbed his
goo-drenched hand, extended his right thumb and pressed it to the
interface. “Perfect. Now that the payment is arranged, let’s get
started on that stomach pump.”