Grison’s ears sounding a hell of a lot like freedom. Palms sweaty with anticipation, he kept them firmly wrapped around the shuttle seat armrest and resisted the urge to look behind him and grin at the Vanaslovi guards’ captive. How he must hate being in captivity. But the truth was he’d grown sloppy. They’d found him passed out right above the recently deceased body wearing the victim’s blood on his hands. As the prisoner’s psychiatric doctor, Grison was charged to see to his treatment. Right now though, what he wanted more than anything was out of the stupid shuttle. He grit his teeth and forced himself to hold still a little longer. Air hissed as the craft’s door opened, allowing them into the small, pressurized primary bay. Barely bigger than a storage closet, it allowed Nidi Station guards to scan them for weapons and medical before authorizing admittance to the main shuttle area. Their unit would be auto-parked by robot attendants, filed according to size and anticipated need for accessibility.
