Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [95]
Then the silence was broken by the beep of a communicator. One of the security officers muttered something beneath his breath. “Bednarik here,” she heard someone say.
“Our orders have changed,” said the voice on the intercom. Asmund recognized it immediately as Worf’s. “Changed, sir?” Bednarik was still trying to speak softly, though it must have been obvious to him that he’d lost the element of surprise. “That is correct,” the Klingon confirmed. “We are no longer searching for Commander Asmund. Our new objective is Doctor Carter Greyhorse.”
Greyhorse. Asmund felt her teeth grind together. “The big fella,” Bednarik said.
“Precisely,” came Worf’s reply. “You are to report to deck twenty-four. Greyhorse has shown himself to be a consummate technician-he may decide to strike at the environmental support equipment.” “Aye, sir.” A beep signalled the end of the conversation. Aednarik’s companion spoke up for the first time since they entered the cargo deck: “What about Asmund?” There was a pause. “We forget about her,” Bednarik said, “for now. But if we happen to run across her, I’ll
tell you what-I’m going to shoot first and ask questions later.” Asmund nodded. She wouldn’t have expected anything else. Then the cargo deck doors opened and closed again, and she was alone. She relaxed-though not completely. Worf and his security people had given her what she’d been looking for-the identity of the murderer. If she just sat tight, they would eventually find Greyhorse and stop him. But the Klingon in her couldn’t accept that as a solution.
The man had soiled her honor-tried to kill her comrades. It was her job to deal with him-no one else’s.
She would get to him first. She promised herself that. Carter Greyhorse was on his way to sickbay. He had some unfinished business there.
Once before, he’d visited sickbay to complete a job he’d started. But just when he thought he was alone with Cadwallader, just when he was about to slip the ku’thei pill between her lips, Beverly Crusher had come in and ruined everything. This time, Crusher would not interrupt. The computer had already assured him that she was in her quarters. And with the murderer caught-or so everyone thought comx would be simple enough to smile his way into critical care. And pay Ben Zoma back. As he would pay them all back. Each and every one-for taking from him the only person who’d ever made him feel anything. lbrning the corner, he entered the medical facility. It was crowded with those who had been injured in
Simenon’s maneuver. None very badly, he saw-which was just as well. He hated to see innocent people get hurt; he was, after all, a doctor.
A few steps in, a nurse turned and looked up at him. She smiled. “Doctor Greyhorse,” she said, recognizing him. He smiled back in a perfunctory sort of way and kept going. She had no idea; his expression, as reserved as ever, hadn’t given her a clue.
Critical care was just ahead and to the right. The barrier obscuring the area was still up, though it was meaningless now. The murder attempts were common knowledge. There was nothing left for Picard to hide.
As Greyhorse approached the barrier, he resolved to be patient. His lack of success in finishing off Cadwallader would not make him hurry. This was a slow game, this killing-slower than he had anticipated. But he would ultimately be the winner. All he had to do was keep going and not make any mistakes. Then he saw that there was no one attending to Ben Zoma at the moment. My luck is changing, he thought. I will not need to be patient after all.
For a moment, he studied the readings on the monitor above the bed: Interesting. Ben Zoma was putting up quite a fight. It was a good thing he’d had the opportunity to come by-and change that. Glancing around quickly to make sure they were still alone, he reached for the ku’thei pill. Fortunately, it left no traces. Nor was it a substance the transporter’s bio-filter was programmed to red-flag. But then, he’d selected it on that basis. Working in the upper