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 sl
ap 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.