Tangled Intersections

  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.

  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.”

  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 a
n 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 s
teamed 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.”

  The silent chant restarted in his head and his hands began to shake from the veracity of his need. Kill Rister. Kill Rister. Kill Rister.

  “Come down here and get me, or Ballantine dies.” The camera clicked off.

  Grison lifted his head and looked around. Nobody seemed to be staring at him or to have heard his conversation. Dumbly he stared at the empty screen once more. But how is this possible? I saw him die. I saw it! Have I gone mad?

  Not wanting to contemplate the last option, he headed for the lift. Surely someone in security would help him. They had to be there now. All he had to do was notify them. Everything will be fine.

  But it wasn’t fine. He was drawn to Rister like a magnet, desperate to end his life. If he could just get rid of Rister, he would be free to live as he chose. Damn him for escaping. None of his other victims head fought back so cleverly. Now it was time for him to die.

  Grison stepped off the lift and found the security hallway empty once more. The lights were not only on, the place was lit up like a sun. He listened at the door to the cell chamber but heard no movement within. Standing well to one side, he waved his arm in front of it. The doors whished open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in to find everything as it should be. Ballantine sat at the desk reading her notes. Rister glared from behind the screen.

  “What the…?” Grison stopped, dumbfounded. This wasn’t part of the game. Rister had broken the rules.

  Ballantine rose from her chair. “Hello, doctor. Come to visit our patient today?”

  Grison backed away slowly, keeping his eyes on Rister the whole time. The doors whished open and he passed through them out into the hall. As he stood there, the lights clicked off. A sick, terrible feeling that he was imagining all this but that there was no escape turned his blood and bones to thick slurry. In one raw second, his life flew before his eyes at zoom speed.

  Yes, he wasn’t perfect. Yes, he’d made mistakes. But was that really so bad? Had he really done anything wrong that other people didn’t want him to do as well? Gritting his teeth, he began to breathe though his trembling lips. Kill Rister. Kill Rister.

  “Stay focused,” he whispered. “Do what has to be done.”

  “Oh yes. What has to be done is final, permanent.”

  The nasally, low pitched voice lacerated Grison’s last hold on control. He pivoted, putting his back against the wall and peered into the darkness toward the little devil’s direction. “Please, don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Kill Rister?” A floating form emerged from the dim black. It wore a green helmet and skirt and its shirt was red. In its hand it held a four foot single pour sword. It swept a graceful long arc in front of him, the blade tip glowing red hot.

  Grison’s knees knocked as his bladder strained, wanting to empty. But he’d not defile himself here, not this way. There was still a chance he’d make it to an honorable death. Mentally he held onto that with a vice grip.

  “March,” the being commanded.

  Grison stumbled down the hall to the intersection, the sword point hovering by his ear.

  “Now, get in the lift.”

  He entered, and the being followed. It hovered in the far corner, glaring at him. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To kill Rister.”

  “But he’s already…” he stopped from saying more and hung his head in confusion. “I saw it,” he mumbled. “I did.”

  The little green alien snickered. “Did you now?”

  “I did.” He insisted, his voice rising. At that moment the lift opened admitting them to the same hot floor Grison had visited earlier. He found himself in the same spot, near the transporter engine room, and the heat just as unbearable as it had been earlier. He tugged at his shirt, pulling it away from sweaty skin.

  “We both know that’s a lie, don’t we?”

  “N-no. It’s n-not, he’s dead.” His teeth chattered as he barely got out the words.

  “Liar.”

  “No!”

  “Imposter!”

  “No! It’s isn’t so... it ….”

  “Pretender!”

  Next to him the machine started up. He felt the rumble of the powerful engine under his feet. Again, he thought about the dying star. How long it would take it to lose its light. Only after untold thousands of years would it finally wane. Taking such a long time to die was almost equal to immortality. But for humans, the closest they could come was dying so suddenly, they never became aware of death. A laugh bubbled up inside him and out his lips. What an absurd thought to have with Marvin the Martian pointing a knife at your being.

  As the transporter heated, the lights flashed, changing from blinking blue to solid red. First, the blinking blue sped up, then, there was a shrill alert beep before it changed to a solid red. The alert blared over the loudspeakers in multiple languages simultaneously.

  “Warning. Transport in progress. Warning. Stay clear of marked path. Failure to do so can result in injury or death.”

  The line lay thick at his feet, like a blood stain heading down a floor drain. So deep, so pure. He wished that was what he could do to Rister: turn him into a blood red stain. Hate bubbled up inside him. Hate for Rister. For the man who deserved to die, but so far had escaped his sentence. Clever, so clever that man. Always plotting and planning, always one step a
head of the game.

  Whiiiish. One person went through the transporter and it powered down just slightly, in preparation for the next passenger. Grison wondered about their destination. Where were they going in such a hurry? Why didn’t they simply wait for the next ship?

  Ah, but part of him understood the impatience. Run, devil, run!

  To his left he sensed a movement, but, mesmerized by the elliptical waves of the transporter beam, he didn’t turn his head. He anticipated the small green creature would torture him some more. That was fine. At least that wasn’t a surprise. But then he had to look. Felt compelled to turn and see the person standing there who was shorter than him, stouter than him and definitely as crazy as him.

  “Hello, Rister.” The doctor snarled the greeting, his voice so deadly and loud that it made him jump out of his skin.

  Looking into those determined brown eyes, his options withered to none. This was the end of the line.

  “Isn’t it time you died?” He said it with a grin, an evil one.

  Fear shocked him back into his own body. There was no place else to go. No escape. But he had to get away from Grison. Had to. Had to. Run, devil, run!

  The engine hummed louder, readying for one more transport.

  As the power ratcheted up and the blue line readied to turn to red once more, Rister took a chance that the force field had weakened and stepped into the beam with one last thought.

  It won’t hurt for lo—