Tangled Intersections (4 page)

The blackness closed around him and he
did not argue. He went proudly into the night, diffusing his last
rays of energy and then going limp.

Against his cheek the
floor boards said,
Cah cahh nuh. Cah cahh
nuh,
and the faraway lights twinkled oh so
bright.

Grison woke with a massive headache
and four tubes sticking out from his body. One in his nose, one in
his left arm, one connected to his stomach area and one… He
shrieked, throwing back the covers and immediately yanked on the
tube protruding from his cock. Delicate tissues tore as he pulled,
bringing tears to both eyes and a whimper to his lips. God damn
them. How dare they treat him this way?

“
Now just a minute, Mr.
Grison. I’m afraid you’re not allowed do that.”

With a sharp cry he at last dislodged
the offending bit of plastic and tossed it across the room. “The
hell I’m not. Why did you stick that in me anyway?” His attention
turned to the other tubes, and he pulled the one out of his
nostril.

“
It’s the usual recourse
when a patient is unconscious and in a drunken condition.” The
B’tok O’hr doctor held his hand out, and a virtual data pad
appeared. “In short, you were unable to care for yourself.” He
scribbled something in the notes with his stylus and tapped the
screen.

Suddenly fatigued, he flopped down
onto the bed. “Is all the green ale gone?” His stomach twisted and
pinched at the mere mention of the concoction and he half curled
onto his side. He was sure it was deadly, lethal at even a very
small dose. How the hell did they get away with serving
it?

“
Yes. Well, most of it.
The rest will work itself out of your bowels over the next day or
so.” At Grison’s pained expression, he offered, “I’d be happy to
prescribe a cleanser for that…”

“
No thanks. Just get me
out of here.”

“
Of course. Now, there is
just one little item I wanted to go over with you.”

“
What’s that?”

“
Your medical records seem
to contain some inaccuracies. For example, they indicate you’re a
blood type O-O Negative, but the blood in your system is Y-Y-A.
Further, there are some discrepancies regarding age, height and
weight. In short, you present an exceedingly different picture than
your file history.”

He sucked in a breath and
tensed, too frightened to move.
First
school records and now medical files.
Why
won’t they quit scrutinizing me? I just want to be left
alone.
Putting on a brave face, he snapped
a retort. “I don’t see how that’s any trouble. Obviously there’s
just been a mistake in the file.”

The doctor rocked back on his heels
and put on a smug doctor expression. “Doctor Grison, as I’m sure
you’re aware, even a small error can result in a life-threatening
situation. I must insist you review the data at your earliest
convenience. I’d hate for a mistake to happen to you and cause you
great harm.”

The man’s pomposity did much to
relieve his rising anxiety. “The only thing causing me harm right
now this this stupid thing.” Grison rolled his eyes and pulled
furtively at the tube in his stomach, but stopped when the
physician approached.

“
Let me get that, it’s a
bit tricky.” He positioned his fingers just so and held the tube
with his other hand. “You’ll feel a slight pinch.”

Grison ground his teeth. Why do people
always say that? Do they think it’s funny?

“
One. Two. Three.” He
tugged and the end came loose.

To Grison, it felt not unlike a large
worm exiting his stomach. He involuntarily retched at the idea, and
a small bit of bile worked its way up his throat. Oh
hell.

The doctor seemed unbothered by
Grison’s discomfort. He grabbed a wound sealer and quickly patched
the small incision area with new quick-grow skin cells. “There now.
All better.”

“
Gaaw.” He gurgled sickly
and collapsed in defeat. Somehow this green liquid still had the
ability to end his life. He just knew it. “Look, doctor, why do
they sell this stuff?”

His nimble fingers went to work on the
arm tube and he had the whole thing removed before Grison could
even mount a protest. After his success, he gave a triumphant wink
and smiled. “Oh don’t worry. It’s only this rough the first time.
Eventually, the body gets used to it. Accepts it, even.”

Gah! “That’s horrible!”

“
Well, sometimes there’s a
lag between our regular alcohol deliveries, and they use the ale to
fill the gap.” He patted Grison’s shin. “Just think of it as
low-grade whiskey.”

Rolling his eyes, he sat up and tossed
back the sheet. “Where are my clothes?”

The doctor shook his head. “You don’t
want them. Once they’re covered in…”

“
All right. Never mind. I
got it.” He pulled the sheet around him and tentatively set his
toes on the floor. At least the room wasn’t spinning
anymore.

“
But on the bright side,
the sheet comes free with the office visit.” He grinned about as
wide as a B’tok O’hr could. Apparently, Grison didn’t look
appreciative enough at the joke, because a few seconds later the
doctor put on his stern face again. “I’ll ring you in the morning
to go over those medical records. I won’t rest until they’re
corrected.” Spinning on his heels, the doc took off without so much
as a goodbye.

Grison scowled after him already
hating the man. He would refuse the call, that’s all. Wait him out.
Besides, it wouldn’t be much longer before Rister was dead. Then,
his life would be problem-free.

When he managed his way to the
corridor, all was silent. He opened his mouth and turned, intent on
asking the doctor how long he’d been out, but the man had already
turned off his lights and closed up shop. Blinking, Grison stared
into the dim, empty hallway. Eerily quiet, every shadow seemed ripe
to harbor unseen evil. His toes tensed and he gripped the sheet
tighter. But what good was a scrap of fabric going to do him? It
barely covered his ass.

His breathing small and shallow, he
timidly stepped into the black. After one step it wasn’t so bad. He
took another. Then another.

Instead of the clink, clink, clink,
boots made against the metal grating, the pads of his feet made no
noise at all. All around him, the station hummed quietly. The
droning sound, usually masked by foot traffic and the bustle of
ships coming and going, seemed oddly out of place. Yet, it lay
under everything, all the time. Only now had it taken center stage,
like a ghost come fully present.

He might as well have been one,
too.

Logic placed the time at the wee hours
of the morning, long before civilians arose. “Only criminals are
awake at this hour,” Grison muttered. “The sane are still
sleeping.”

The fact he himself was not only awake
but also walking niggled at him. Gloomily, he wondered whether
Rister slept or if his tortured mind spun most nights until dawn.
The label, “insane” boasted a lot of different connotations. Rister
was merely one of them. But he was Grison’s own personal subtext.
The one man on the station he wanted most to see dead.

The thought stopped him in
his tracks. The hard metal grating pressed into the soft pads of
his feet as he stood there, warring with his inner demons. Of which
he possessed many.
Kill him. Kill him and
be done with it. Order his death and the blood doesn’t even touch
your hands.

His rasping breaths reverberated off
the dense walls. That crappy green drink had scalded his throat,
probably leaving scar tissue. Acid boiled in his stomach,
threatening to send him to his knees. But as there was no waste
receptacle available for his use, he needed to get back to his
luxury accommodations before collapsing. If he could only make his
feet move. His fingers however, tingled and twitched eagerly. The
visage of Rister’s death looming large in his
imagination.

Could he do it? Could he
convince them to terminate Rister for his own good? Taking care of
the matter himself would be… messy. It would call attention. Point
the finger of the law the wrong way. He needed it to point to
Rister alone.
You’ll fry for your crimes,
you dirty bastard. I’ll make sure of it
,
he told Rister’s glowering face.
You can’t
wrangle your way out of this now.

As he stood there fantasizing, the
cool breeze of the station’s air scrubbers coming on blew the edges
of the sheet. The fluttering against his shins not unlike the feel
of butterfly wings. Just before he started moving again, a hand
clamped onto his left shoulder.

Grison screamed.

The high-pitched shriek traveled a
long ways, returning to his ears with the force of a slap in the
face. Shaking, he turned his head and swallowed hard. To his left
stood a very tall, very slim figure dressed in a bleak grey cloak
that covered him head to toe, and shadowed his face. When his
eyesight focused, he caught a glimpse of a ragged scar from the
man’s right temple to his chin. The hand molded to his shoulder had
certainly been burned at one time, but by who or what, he couldn’t
say.

“
Excuse me, station
occupant. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The eyes of the guard,
when fully turned upon Grison, glowed grayish silver.

Air hissed through his lips and as he
curled slightly into himself, he noticed his cock had shriveled.
Worse, he felt it leak most likely green liquid onto the dark grey
deck. He shuddered, repulsed by himself rendered weak as a
frightened girl under the man’s tight clasp.

The security attendant blithely
continued as though his appearance was not strange at all. “But
it’s nearly four in the morning Earth time, and you’re standing in
the middle of the observation deck naked, save for a sheet. Do you
require some sort of assistance?”

After the assistance he’d suffered
already that night, what little strength he’d had left fled his
bones. “E-E five.” How he hated the unsteady quiver in his
voice.

“
What suite?”

He got a better hold of himself this
time and raised his head. “Fifteen twenty eight.”

“
You’re nearly there.” The
attendant guided him forward and together they walked to the
intersection. They paused, checking the lights. They were blue.
Corridor clear.

But as they passed through
the transporter lane, the hairs on the back of Grison’s neck stood.
A searing sensation cramped his gut so bad he nearly doubled over.
He knew in his very soul they were being watched. There was someone
or something behind them and whatever
watched
them also
waited
, patiently, for
them to make a mistake. No. For him to make one. Shivering, he
wrenched his shoulder from the guard’s grasp and stumbled over his
feet, breaking into awkward a dead run. His legs, pumping as fast
as they could work, were nonetheless unable to match the speed of
his pounding heart. The screaming panic in his head refused to
stop.
No. No! Don’t let it get me. Don’t
let it get me.

Panting, he shot through the sliding
door and collapsed on the floor on the other side. Every breath
constricted in his chest, pushed out with a wheeze. Near sobbing,
he shut his eyes and hugged his legs close. He’d escaped death this
time, but barely.

Chanting, “I won, I won, I won,” he
whispered himself to sleep.

Nidi Station

Habitation Zone E5, Suite
1528

Morning

Grison woke on the floor cocooned in
fabric. His head banged and beat like a thrumming drum. From the
intercom above him came an announcement:

Attention all Nidi Station
habitants. Incoming supply ships are scheduled to arrive today at
eleven thirty. Please queue early and have your credits ready if
you intend to purchase directly from the docking bay. Otherwise,
all station stores will be resupplied with perishable goods in
floor-section order. Unloading will commence once direct exchanges
have completed. Please do not interrupt the flow of traffic in the
main corridors and obey all safety regulations.

The message repeated, this
time in Universal and Parsi as well as the clipped, broken tones of
this sector’s merchant’s tongue. When the intrusion ended, Grison
ceased rubbing his sore head and laid his cheek to the cheap carpet
over the metal deck grating. Again, it said,
Cah cahh nuh. Cah cahh nuh.
Mixed
with the system environmentals’
Craaawk.
Vroooom. Craaawk. Vroooom
, the veritable
symphony of noise relaxed his strained nerves. He yawned and sat
up, surveying the room. The bag containing ill-fitting clothes
still lay on the floor. The blue duffle remained on the coffee
table, untouched. He didn’t feel the urge to open it right that
second. The right moment would come soon enough.

Stubbornly, he forced his
tired limbs to rise. In the shower, he did the best he could to
erase all traces of green from his body. When he got out, the air
whooshing around his nakedness caused him to tremble. Again, he
hated his own weakness. Without strength a man was nothing.
I must be strong.
He
lifted his chin, looking in the mirror, and let the towel
fall.
Enough cowering. I’ve been cowering
too much.