Tangled Intersections (5 page)

He told himself it was
merely the sudden change in environment that had him so rattled, so
not himself.
Pull your act together. Stop
acting like a fool.

In a way, the terrible
green liquid had done him a favor. It had burned away the outer
shell, separated the wheat from the chaff.
I will no longer be that trembling man in the sheet.
His
eyes burned insistently in the
reflection.
I will conquer
this.

From his left, he heard
the station’s air coolers making the sound,
har-rooom ka-tem, har-room ka-tem
,
and Grison’s mind made out a voice above the repetitive tone. It
said,
trouble ahead, trouble
ahead
. Gritting his teeth, he squared his
shoulders and gave himself one last bolstering look in the mirror
before heading out to get dressed.

Clothes were still strewn on the floor
where he’d left them, carnage from the previous day’s rage. He
studied them with a jaundiced gaze before plucking only the two
pieces he’d chosen, avoiding touching all the rest. As for socks
and underwear, he didn’t bother. Perhaps he’d order some from the
commissary and have them delivered to his suite. Thinking of
deliveries, he ordered a simple meal from the replicator in his
room and sat, prepared to eat it. However, once in his chair he
found the food on the plate had turned green.

Sloshing his coffee as he rose, he
backed away from the nastiness. As he stood there swallowing back
down what little his stomach possessed, the soft tone of the
intercom dinged.

Doctor Grison, you have a
message from first medical officer Ballantine.

His eyes rolled as he muttered,
“Play.”

Doctor Grison, hi, it’s
nurse Ballantine here. I need to speak with you in order to
finalize the treatment plan for patient Cornekus Rister. Could you
please come by security this morning? Thank you, Ballatine
out.

“
Hmpf.” Grison had no
intentions of seeing Rister again in the flesh, but as his stomach
couldn’t handle breakfast, he might as well wander that way.
Besides, he possessed no clear plans for the day. Perhaps if he got
Ballantine out of the way, he would have a chance to see the ships
dock and unload. Presumably bearing drinkable beer… “Now that, I’d
like to see.”

In a better mood already, he left his
quarters and traveled the four floors and two hallways to security.
Again, no one manned the desk, and he’d seen no precautions taken
as he entered the area. The weapons locker sat right in front of
him. True, it required a key code or a pass to access the goods,
but how hard would that be to come by? Those two rowdies in the bar
most probably had access. He could only imagine how easy it would
be to gain their entry codes once they were sufficiently
inebriated. Given their Neanderthal-like state, the duo would
doubtless to continue to drink the green ale even when proper
alcoholic beverages became available. The thought made Grison
shudder.

Staring at the weapons lockers, he was
startled when the door burst open and Ballantine entered the
hallway.

She pulled up short, right before
smacking into him. “Oh! Doctor Grison. There you are.”

“
Yes. Everything all
right?”

Ballantine bit her lip. “Well,
Rister’s been demanding we look at his school records.”

His eyebrows rose. “School
records?”

She nodded. “Yes, especially his later
academic stuff. He demands we scrutinize the files and take another
look at the data – specifically his yearbook pictures.”

A heavy sensation settled into
Grison’s stomach. “Why?”

“
Because the photos don’t
match.” Ballantine shook her head. “The photos on file for Maynard
Grison don’t look anything like they should.”

Cold and numbness iced down his veins,
turning his thinking sluggish. When the fear hit his nervous
center, his brain kicked into gear. “They’ve been tampered with,
then?”

“
Most likely. That’s the
only reasonable explanation.”

“
Rister has done it. I can
assure you he has.”

“
He seems adamant the
files are as they should be.”

He stood straighter and brushed her
aside. “Let me talk with him. I’ll get this straightened
out.”

“
But doctor,” she huffed,
trotting after him through the door, “he’s in a very combative mood
today.”

Grison snorted. “Of course he is.” He
traipsed right up to the security screen and stared down at Rister.
“I heard you’re causing trouble.”

The edge of Rister’s mouth lifted. “No
trouble at all. Just trying to set the facts aright.”

“
They’re fine the way they
are.” He hadn’t meant to bellow, but sure enough his voice rang off
the walls. Beside him, Ballantine jumped.

Rister came as close to the edge of
the cage as he could without being shocked. His demeanor menaced
even through the safety measure. “Oh no, they’re not, and I’m going
to get out of here and prove it to the security committee, to the
station authorizes, to the whole universe!”

Too far. Rister has
finally gone too far. I’m done with him.
Grison was done with fear and trepidation in dealing with
Rister. Instead, he put on his most serious physician attitude.
More than anything, he wanted this ongoing madness with Rister to
end. He wanted him dead. “Oh no you won’t.” He too, leaned as close
to the security grid as safety allowed. “You’ll never get out of
that cell alive.”

Ballantine gasped between two ruby red
lips. “Doctor?”

Grison snapped his attention to the
silly girl. “Have you put in my request for Rister’s
termination?”

“
Well, no, I-I…” She
blinked rapidly.

He held out his hand. “Give me your
data pad.”

She frowned cutely, her eyebrows knit
in confusion. “But doctor, we talked about that.
Protocols—”

“
Won’t help us here. The
file notes, if you please, nurse.” He held her gaze, beat her down
until she broke. He quickly took over the pad and inserted his
instructions. Death for Rister. Death and destruction. Nothing less
would do.

When he finished, he hit send, and
handed the gadget back to Ballantine. “There. I’ve taken care of
it. I’ve taken care of you, Rister,” he snarled at the
cage.

A resounding hiss issued from the
inmate’s lips and echoed off the walls. “You sure about
that?”

“
Absolutely.” He glared at
his nemesis, silently counting the days until Rister was gone from
his life forever and silently willing them to be blissfully short.
“We’re done here.”

His work complete, he
ignored Ballantine’s surprised look and strode out the door. He
felt the first real sense of peace since that long, terrible trip
from the backwater colony. Being confined with Rister all that time
had stretched his patience and control too thin. But now, things
were back on track. The way they should be. Humming, he strode
through the corridor, matching his tune to the sounds of the
station.
Vrooom. Vrooom.
A-vrooom.

Forty five ships. That’s how many it
took to fully restock the station. Grison stared at the armada, jaw
dropped in amazement. How many different items did those ships need
to carry to keep the old relic from falling apart? Or were they
merely stocked with foodstuffs, wine and cheap girls? The idea of
an illicit tryst, combined with Rister’s imminent death, thrilled
him. He pressed his nose to the complexi-grade shield and exhaled,
fogging the area around his nostrils for a few seconds. So far he
hadn’t seen any women exit the ships, but that didn’t mean there
weren’t any.

Human women.

Alien women.

Any kind of women would
do. Offer up a little excitement. If he wasn’t going to spend his
time on the station drinking fine wine, as least he could get laid.
Maybe even two women at a time. Rubbing his hands together, he
hurried to the loading docks hoping to catch a glimpse of
scantily-clad sex traders. But the long lines of customers buying
direct and the already large crowd of hangers-on made it impossible
for him to get very close. Huffing, he turned his attention instead
to the wall. There, the display listed the names, captains and
anticipated cargo of all the day’s arrivals. Scrunching up his
lips, he scanned the list for anything exciting.
Stellar Harmoni
,
foodstuffs, clothing and hardware.
Andromeda Calypso
, medical
supplies.
Fortunate
Brother
, generator repair parts.
Savvi Turdori
,
environmental scrubbers. The list went on and on. Grison yawned and
stopped reading. Surely there was something good to be had, but it
would obviously require more energy than he possessed to find it.
He hadn’t gotten much sleep after all. His stomach growled
reminding him he hadn’t eaten breakfast either, but now, with
Rister taken care of, his appetite had returned in
force.

Still yawning, he slipped
down the hall toward the restaurants. One of the little coffee
shops was open, and the bright astro-glow sign blinked on and off
steadily, displaying pre-programmed messages. One of them
said,
Biscuits & hot drink - 2
creds
. Deciding that would make a fine
simple meal, he walked up to the counter and ordered. He’d just
finished his doughy protein-enriched meal when his personal message
comm. link beeped. He glanced down at the caller ID.
Ballantine.
“Oh hell.
What does she want?”

Ignoring her, he slumped
into his chair and dragged the recycled mug to his lips. He took a
drink and swallowed. The damn thing beeped again, not giving him a
minute’s peace. Grison rubbed his face. What did she want? There
couldn’t possibly have been an answer to his request yet. Most
boards didn’t move that quickly toward a decision and a medical
one?
Ha. Forget it. She’s just calling to
yammer at me, give her squashy little feelings some air time. Well,
I’m not going to listen to her wring her hand over what I’ve done
and she’s not going to talk me out of it. She’s going to have find
a way to live with it on her own.

Grison finished his coffee and dumped
the cup in the re-cyc bin. Then, he wandered back toward the crowd,
again straining to see any unusual females, clothed, or even
better, unclothed as some cultures preferred. As he rose on his
tip-toes to see over an annoyingly tall Criniri, a shrill ship-wide
alarm rang. The screen illuminating the ship roster blinked out,
and was replaced by a live station announcement.

Attention Nidi Station
visitors and residents. A security lockdown is in effect until
further notice. A prisoner has escaped from Psych Ward Five.
Repeat, a prisoner has escaped. Consider him dangerous and do not
approach.

The screen flashed a photo
of the inmate and Grison’s breakfast surged up his throat.
Rister.

He backed away from the screen his
fingers automatically silencing yet another urgent call on his
comm. link, which must have been Ballantine warning him of his
predicament. There was no doubt in his mind he’d be Rister’s first
target. “He’s going to kill me,” he muttered. “That’s what he
wants.”

His hands shook. He knew
without a doubt there was only one thing he could do to put an end
to this madness. Get rid of Rister himself. And god, how glorious
doing so would be. A part of him realized he’d been waiting for,
and hoping for this moment all along.
Yes,
oh yes.

Breathing hard, he turned and sprinted
back to the habitation deck. Inside his quarters, he searched
frantically for a weapon. But he didn’t have a registered gun
because he wasn’t security. There were no club-like objects in the
room either, unless one counted the chair legs, so he had to keep
looking. In desperation, he grabbed the zipper on the long bag
resting on the coffee table and slowly began to pull. Once it was
open, he gently parted the two halves like labia and reached
inside.

A long box took up the entire space.
He slid it out and hesitantly traced the picture on the carton. The
four-foot single piece Hemeri Steel knives were famously beautiful,
precisely balanced and bone-cutting deadly. All seven of them.
These were the knives Rister had used to murder his victims. To
slice and slice and cut them to little pieces. Rister, the
murderer. Who even now had Grison in his sights.

He held his breath as he
lifted the lid, fearing the first cold touch. As it opened, his
eyes widened and his heart stopped. A sharp inhale stung his lungs.
The box lay
empty
. The deadly knives were gone. Frustrated, he roared at the
ceiling and dented the box with his fists. Again, his comm. link
buzzed. Growling, he snatched it off his hip and scowled the
message.

Rister has escaped.
Heading your way. Seek cover. Ballantine.

He thumbed the replay off and snarled
one of his own into the worthless gadget. “C35374, where are the
damn knives you little bastard? Where are they? I want them
now!”

But even as he ended the call, he
realized what the mechanoid’s answer would be. No weapons allowed
on station. Chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, he let
out a pained whine. How could he have been so foolish? “Now I have
no way to kill Rister.”