Tangled Intersections (6 page)

Unless he wanted to strangle the man
with his bare hands, he’d have to come up with some clever way to
get him to die. Unless…

Foggy images from his ale induced haze
flitted through his mind. The Nidi techs hadn’t seemed all that
bright. Who was to say the security guards were any wiser? With the
controls so lax he might very well find a way to break into the
weapons stash and then go in his merry way to hunt Rister. Even
though that meant he’d have to visit the area Rister had just
abandoned, taking a chance he wouldn’t return. Of course, sitting
here in his quarters didn’t qualify as any better an idea. Rister
would eventually come. And when he arrived, Grison wanted to be
ready.

Underneath his feet, the
floorboards said, “
Kill Rister. Kill
Rister.”

Taking the direction to heart, Grison
scrambled up and headed out the door.

Security was flooded with
idiots. They jostled Grison as they raced through the hall, never
bothering to say “
excuse
me
.” In fact they nary even gave him a
look, if they noticed him at all. Grison simply wandered into the
security area like he belonged. But before he reached the weapons
locker, he was jerked through an open doorway. Recognizing the
holding cell area, he tensed, preparing to fight.

Ballantine spun him around. “There you
are, doctor. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Didn’t you get
my calls?”

He shrugged, hiding the fact his heart
rate had gone light speed. “I was busy.”

She shook her head. “You’re too late.
Rister’s escaped and he’s coming after you, said he’s going to make
you pay.” Her hand latched onto his arm and held fast. “You need to
get off the station immediately.”

Grison’s eyebrows rose. He’d seen the
vids, hadn’t she heard the alarm? How foolish she must be. “But I
can’t get off the station. Nidi’s on lockdown. No ships going in or
out.”

“
You can use the
transporter. Victim safety protocols allow for an emergency
beam-out.”

“
And where would I
go?”

“
Anywhere, doctor, that’s
far from Rister.”

Ah, she wanted him to run. But to turn
tail and escape, just when he’d been prepared and even quite eager
to fight, seemed the wrong choice. Desire to kill Rister pounded in
his temples. “I simply cannot do that.”

Ballantine guided him toward the
doorway, a pacifying smile gracing her lips. “I know a lot of
people are afraid of the transporter, but believe me, doctor, it’s
your only choice. I’ve already loaded your bio-scan into the array.
The machine will recognize your imprint and immediately load the
program. All you have to do is step into it, and you’ll be
transmitted to a safe place instantly.”

He squared his shoulders. “I’m not in
danger here, Ballantine. I’m perfectly safe.” He watched her mouth
form a little “O.” Not wanting to listen to anymore of her
nattering, he released himself from her grip and passed through the
door. Outside, the hall had fallen silent.

Not a soul lined the
corridor, the hustle and bustle of a few minutes before had ended
and given way to nothingness. Grison stood silently for a moment,
looking both ways almost convinced this was a hallucination. But
nobody came. Relieved, he crept toward the weapons locker, hand
outstretched. Upon opening, he discovered it too, was empty.
Snarling, he slammed the door shut. Metal on metal clanged, the
bang echoing through the hallway. He was surprised the little nurse
didn’t come running. When she didn’t he gathered his
thoughts.
Plan, I need a new
plan.

So far, all his efforts had garnered
him zero weapons. Plus, no personal ones were allowed on the
station. But what about the vessels docked at the loading bays?
Surely they carried arms. Liking this new idea, he started down the
hall.

He hadn’t moved five feet when the
station lurched. Normally, Nidi turned at a measured rate. Always
cooling and always heating, it spared itself extra work by using a
simple engineering feat. Spinning. Keeping mobile didn’t allow the
heat to excel in any one area, and allowed the coolers a little
less hardship. If need be, the station could turn on the stellar
drive and move farther away, which is what they’d had to do
annually, as Mira Tri Lucius grew warmer. But he hadn’t received
any notice a ship move was imminent. Worse, it felt as though it
had stopped moving entirely. A bad feeling sank low in his gut. A
blink later, the lights went out.

Emergency generators
roared to life, shaking the walls. Along the floors, banks of tiny
green lights flickered on. They cast enough glow to guide his way,
but the ale-green hue knotted his stomach. Grison couldn’t help but
find it a bad omen.
No, not this
again.

From behind him came a call, soft and
sing-song. “Oh, Rister. Risterrrr.”

He spun around in time to catch a
flash of metal glinting off a very long blade. With a whoosh the
vision vanished, sliding behind the corner out of sight. His heart
skidded to a halt. When it pumped again, it hurried through the
motion and beat in double time. Grison knew what he had seen even
if it were impossible. Swallowing his trepidation, he backed the
way he’d come one shaky step at a time. Only when he reached the
intersection did he allow himself to turn around and scurry
forward. He still had two more floors to go to reach the docking
bay. Walking them backwards wouldn’t get him there any
faster.

Running full-tilt, he passed no one.
Met no one in the deck-to-deck lift. Saw no one when he stepped off
of it and onto the docking bay floor. Even the wall screens were
off, though some flickered in apparent protest of their non-use. As
far as Grison could see, the bay doors stood open, and nobody was
home.

His fingers itched for a knife. Any
knife as long as it was sharp. He needed something to carry, to
make him feel safe. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he
walked hesitantly past the first bay and peeked inside. If there
was a ship docked, it too, was playing dead. A dark gaping
blackness peered back at him and silence. All was
silent.

He tried the next one, and
the next, traveling ever farther down the dim hall. At every
opening he stopped and looked, then kept going. He didn’t have the
courage to step into the void. Darkness wasn’t like light. Bright
luminosity, it washed you clean but shade, it wrenched the soul
from under your skin. Grison shivered, wrapped his arms around
himself and paused.
I should go back.
There isn’t anyone here.

“
Oh yes there
issssss.”

Grison’s scream caught in his throat,
trapping his air, too. With the hairs on his neck and arms standing
on end, he turned just his head so he could see, and
shuddered.

He’s not green. He’s
black.

He’s green!

His clothes are
green.

No, they’re
red.

The scream worked its way clear and
emerged from his lips as a tortured groan for help. But there was
no one around to offer him aid. His face flushed and his mouth went
dry. Fear rattled his ribcage so badly each breath trembled. He
licked his lips, but his voice came out a whisper. “What… are …
you—”

“
Going somewhere, doctor?”
Again, the flash of a long steel blade caught his attention. “I
suggest you run.”

He didn’t waste time debating the
reality of the command. Grison ran for his life. He kept going
until he reached the end of the corridor, then turned right as it
was his only option. This led into a dead-end harboring banks of
lifts. He pressed the button and stepped into one. The doors
slammed shut around the tip of a blade. He’d cut it close. The
creature had been almost upon him. One more second and…

Grison sank to the floor whimpering,
arms wrapped around himself to stop the wracking tremors. It’s
hunting me. It’s trying to kill me. Why? Why? What have I done to
deserve this?

The doors slid open and Grison stood.
He peered out onto the C deck, blinking rapidly. A few people
milled about, and the lights were blazing. C Deck might well have
been paradise. Breathing a sigh of relief, he stepped out. Everyone
went about their business. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say
the station had returned to normal. He wiped the sweat off his brow
with his palm.

To his left, the wall screens glowed
gaily. They showed the list of the ships in the docking bay, the
current station temperature and the day’s video news. Two soft
pings announced a new ship wide alert:

Attention Nidi residents.
The security lockdown has been cancelled. The escaped prisoner has
been recaptured. Repeat, the prisoner has been recaptured. Please
go about your normal business.

Grison’s heart
surged.
They’ve got him. They must, that’s
why everything has returned to normal.

On screen, a video displayed Rister’s
capture. Four security guards circled him. Two grabbed him by the
arms and just as when they’d first arrived, he kicked his legs and
twisted, trying to break their hold. But the other two guards moved
in, one punching Rister in the side of the head. When he dropped to
his knees, the guards holding him relaxed a little, and that was
all he needed. Rister sprang up and leapt forward, only to be shot
in the head by the fourth guard. Rister’s body fell to the floor
with a thump.

Grison turned away from the video,
grinning widely, his glee unrestrained. He’d seen enough. All he
needed, really, to discover he’d won. The deed was complete. He was
Grison and Rister was dead. Finally able to take a deep breath, he
straightened his spine and tugged his clothes into place. Perhaps
lunch wasn’t a bad idea. Then, afterwards, he’d have a talk with
the ship’s captains about a girl…

Striding confidently down the deck, he
glanced around at the unfamiliar area. C Deck wasn’t habitational,
nor was it mercantile. From the looks of things, it wasn’t
engineering either. Offices perhaps, or administration. The people
hurrying along beside him seemed purposeful, strident. He watched
them and tried to adopt their demeanor. Businesslike. Intelligent.
Efficient. He ended up following a group of young people down a
corridor where they congregated in a cluster, talking excitedly.
Grison stood off to the side, growing hotter and more uncomfortable
by the second.

The heat in this section of the ship
was astonishing. It would easily have doubled for hell. It was an
oppressive, sultry warmth, too, that might have steamed him in his
clothes. He couldn’t invent a reason why this would be so. Other
parts of Nidi were quite comfortable. Stupefied, he looked over the
kid’s heads to read the name plate on the door. “Transporter Engine
Room.”

Understanding dawned. The working
parts of the transporter beam must require immense amounts of
energy. Especially such an early model. Luckily they were near a
dwarf star kicking out plenty of gravitational wave. Harnessing it,
however, must have required less shielding on this part of station.
Grison loosened his collar, wiping the sweat off his neck with his
fingers.

If the younger set was bothered by the
heat, they did not show it. Instead, the queued up and one by one,
were admitted to the chamber. In a few moments, Grison saw the
floor panel lights change colors. The one directly to his right
went from blinking blue to solid red. Then, a rush of energy beamed
past him. One of the youngsters being beamed off station, he
supposed. That’s what Ballantine wanted to do to me? Super heat me
and send me colliding into space?

Yet as he stood there, he pondered how
pretty it was to be collapsed to one’s basic elements and shot
through the system at light speed. How deadly too. How perfectly
deadly. In the back of his mind, he’d kept the possibility of
pushing Rister into a transport beam as an optional murder method.
He would have enjoyed witnessing his final expression. The chance
to gauge how it felt from Rister’s final seconds. So many things he
wanted to know but never would. Not if he melted at any
rate.

Thirsty, he headed back
toward the lifts and away from C Deck. Back on the observation
deck, he found the place lively and all traces of the previous
nightmare vanished. Below his feet, the station hummed its normal
tune.
Cah cahh nuh. Cah cahh
nuh.

He returned to the same little café
he’d visited earlier, this time drinking down a cold beverage. As
he placed his glass in the re-cyc container, he heard his messaging
unit buzz. “What now?”

He thumbed it on and Ballantine’s face
filled the screen. “Doctor, you’re still here. Why haven’t you
left?”

Grison scowled. “Whatever
for?”

“
Rister, he’s—”

“
Dead,” Grison said
flatly. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

Ballantine blanched a chalky shade and
her pupils dilated. “But, he’s… he’s…” The screen swiveled and
bounced, blurring the image. When it came to rest once more, Rister
held Ballantine in a headlock, a knife pressed to her
throat.

A shiver of excitement electrified
him. “No. That can’t be. You’re dead, Rister. Dead.”

He re-arranged his hold as the nurse
struggled. Finally he got her well immobilized. “Not yet I’m not.
You’re going to have to do better than that to get rid of
me.”