Ghost Ship - Diane Carey [50]
“No!” Geordi shouted. This time the menace was familiar, and neither it nor Geordi’s reaction was unexpected-by Riker or by Data.
As Geordi bolted from his own chair, Riker caught him at the end of a good old boardinghouse reach, his hand clamping around Geordi’s arm like a vise. In the same instant Data used one of those awful squeezes to gasp out, “Stay away! Geordi-“
The static sizzled across Geordi’s hand as he reached out, but Data’s command made him draw back again. Through his visor he stared at the devilish infrared sheath, and it spat back at him with a strangely comprehensible warning.
“LaForge, as you were!” Picard maneuvered between them. He examined the white field of static as it snapped around Data.
If Data could feel pain, he was feeling it now. If they had any doubt that he could, for this moment they had none.
Riker came around forward of Data, keeping just clear of the static envelope. Only once did he look away from it, only long enough to check on Troi. She was on the upper deck, gripping the rail, staring over it at them, her face lined with concern and anticipation. But she looked okay for now, considering.
“Captain,” Riker began, holding out a hand as though to steady the situation, “if we can talk to it now-“
LaForge pushed forward, stopped only by the presence of Picard. “No! We’ve got to get him out of it!”
“This might be our only chance,” Riker insisted.
“He doesn’t deserve to be on your sucker list, Mr. Riker,” LaForge said bitterly, just short of snarling.
“I know,” Riker told him. “I know. Move back. That’s an order. Captain … “
Picard made a half-circle around the android and the force that held him. “Yes … yes … steady, everyone.” He moved in so closely that the static field ran down his arms and legs and caused ripples on his skin. “Data, can you hear me?”
The crackling settled down suddenly. It was as though a balloon popped and shrank to its natural shape, ugly transparent colors wrapping Data and schooling around him. His breathing lost some of its gaspiness, though he still panted and strained against what was obviously still an attack. His eyes were fixed on the dimly lit battle bridge ceiling, but working as though there were words up there to read. He blinked and squinted, fighting for meaning in what he saw. His arms were flared at his sides, his hands spread, long fingers twitching.
Riker moved to the captain’s side very slowly, and spoke in low tones barely above whispers. “There’s some kind of harmonic sympathy going on. Like radio waves causing a crystal to vibrate. Somehow, he’s compatible with it.”
Picard nodded, once.
“Data?” he began again. “Can you hear me? Do you understand me?”
For a time there was nothing.
Then, the tiniest “Yes … “
The response went through them all like a knife.
“Data, speak to me,” the captain prodded, using his resonant voice for the effective tool it was.
“I … “
“Go on. Try harder. I’m listening. Go on.”
“Sub … circuit … com … com … “
“Communication?”
“Yes … “
“That’s what I was hoping to hear. Can you talk to it?”
Data’s brushstroke features contorted with frustration. “I can’t … can’t transmit … “
“Keep trying. Stay calm, everyone. No one move. Worf, report.”
Even the Klingon was driven to lower his voice in the presence of the vortex’s assault on Data. “Still chewing the antimatter reactions in the asteroid belt, sir. No sign of changing course.”
“Speaking to you … “
Her voice was soft, but this time it had an inflection they didn’t recognize, one that made them turn to her now in spite of Data’s entrapment as Deanna Troi stepped stiffly down to the main deck. Riker reached out for her and she took the hand he offered, but her expression was that of one who was looking into a blinding light. The same as Data’s now-seeing something that wasn’t there.
“Your language,” she murmured. “I speak in.”
Riker was holding her hand, and now he began a hesitant step that would draw him right up close.
“No,” Picard said sharply then, gesturing him back. With an