Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [96]
Sitting down in the chair at Ben Zoma’s bedside, he
leaned over the patient. To an intruder, it would appear as if he were examining him. Ben Zoma’s face was pale and waxy-looking; the only color in it was where the skin had been irritated by the tubes in his nostrils and his mouth.
Gilaad Ben Zoma, this is for Gerda Asmund. For the-Suddenly, Greyhorse heard sounds of alarm outside the barrier. The ku’thei pill was poised just above Ben Zoma’s parched lips. He had to do something-he couldn’t allow himself to be found like this. Gripped by panic, he thrust the pill into the man’s mouth as far as it would go.
That’s when Dr. Selar came dashing around the barrier. One look at him was all she needed. Without breaking stride, she gripped him by the shoulder and spun him away from Ben Zoma. She knows, he realized. The knowledge jolted him. But how? How can she?
And who else knows?
Shortly, they all would. No matter if he killed her now as she tried to get the pill out of Ben Zoma’s throat. If she lived, she would spread the word-assuming it was not spreading already. And if she died, there would be witnesses to the fact that he had done it. Better to escape while he still could. To follow the steps he’d outlined for himself if he should ever be found out. Bolting through the space between the barrier and the bulkhead, Greyhorse flung himself through the gathering crowd. Someone tried to grab him by the wrist; twisting down savagely, he snapped the man’s grip and left him screaming.
Then he was hurtling toward the exit, his mind locking down like a machine. Which, in the end, was what he was born to be. Not a man, but a machine. No
more human, in all the ways that mattered, than the android Data. A machine.
In the corridor, people stopped to look at him. But that was all. Obviously, no one had warned them about him. They hadn’t heard yet. Taking advantage of the fact, he headed for the turbolift. A female crewman was in his way; he hurled her aside. Once he got to the lift, he knew, it would be impossible to stop him. His objective was only two decks away-a matter of moments. As he passed a joining of the corridors, however, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. A flash of red and black. There was an impact, though he was too deep into his battle-state by now to feel it, and he was shoved sideways into the bulkhead on his right. Recovering, he caught sight of his attacker’s face—recognized the blue eyes, narrowed in determination. And of course, the beard. Riker was quick. He got in a solid blow to the side of Greyhorse’s head-a blow that jarred the big man but did not stop him. Before the first officer could follow up on his attack, Greyhorse retaliated.
First, he snapped Riker’s head back with a well-placed kave’ragh-just as Gerda had taughteahm. Then, while the smaller man was still stunned, he lifted him off his feet by the front of his tunic and flung him hard into the bulkhead.
Before Riker slipped to the deck, Greyhorse was lunging for the turbolift again. A fraction of a second later, the doors opened and he was inside.
“Transporter room five,” he said, breathing just a little harder than normal. Removing his communicator, he flung it on the floor. Then the doors closed and, though he couldn’t feel it, the lift started to move.
“Captain? This is Doctor Selar.”
On the bridge now, Picard glanced at Data before replying. “Yes, Doctor. What the devil is going on there?” “Apparently, you were right to warn us about Doctor Greyhorse. He was putting something in Captain Ben Zoma’s mouth when I interrupted him. A pill—poison, I would guess. Fortunately, I was able to retrieve it.” Picard swore softly. It had been close. “Where is Greyhorse now?” asked the captain. “Were you able to detain him?”
A slight pause. “No, sir. My priority was the safety of the patient.”
Picard nodded. “Of course. Thank you, Doctor.” “We must stop him, sir,” Data said. He looked at the captain. “With what he knows about ship’s systerns-was Before he