Possession - J.M. Dillard [101]
“In the meantime,” T’Lal continued, “we would appreciate receiving the requested logs concerning the incident aboard the Ferengi vessel—”
“My apologies on the delay,” Riker countered smoothly. “We’ve been unable to transmit those files because of some minor computer problems. But if you would like, we could—what the hell?”
Skel followed the commander’s startled gaze to the viewscreen, where the image of T’Lal had been suddenly replaced with that of Skal Torr. But instead of being surrounded by empty space and stars, the Vulcan ship was confronted by a gigantic, glowing green eyeball—Klingon, Skel assessed automatically, his Vulcan calm permitting him to note its details despite the surge of disbelief evoked by its appearance.
The great eye stared for an instant at the Vulcan ship, then blinked and turned its scowling scrutiny on the Enterprise.
“Impulse engines,” the Vulcan captain ordered crisply. “Draw us back.” And then she refocused her attention on Riker. “Commander …” T’Lal’s tone was infinitely composed and matter-of-fact; the only hint of her subdued surprise was the scarcely perceptible widening of her eyes. “Could you explain this phenomenon? Our scanners reveal it is being generated by your vessel.”
Riker’s lips were parted in amazement, his blue eyes far wider than T’Lal’s. For a moment, he offered no response; then, swallowing, he stammered, “Captain, I—I apologize. This is either a computer malfunction or someone’s idea of a practical joke.”
Skel watched silently as the human officer whirled in his chair shouting at no one, at everyone, aboard the bridge; his entities, Skel realized, were reacting violently to the surprise and stress. “Someone shut that damned thing down now!”
The bridge crew scrambled to comply, but they, too, were overworked and, like Riker, on the verge of losing control. Any more stress, and …
Skel blinked at the sudden blaze of brightness on the screen; a dazzling streak of phaser fire tore through the hologram and struck the Skal Torr a glancing blow.
“Commander Riker!” the Vulcan captain demanded as, on the screen, her bridge rocked. This time, her voice bore a definite note of disbelief and annoyance. “Why is your ship firing on us?”
Before Riker could think of an answer, T’Lal called to her helm: “Raise shields!”
“The Vulcans have raised their shields,” Worf announced, grinning with pleasure from his tactical position at Data’s makeshift panel. At the happy news, Deanna grabbed both Kyla and Alexander, permitting their triumph to wash over her and temporarily displace the eerie sensation of the entities’ pull.
“Then they can handle another hit,” Data decided. “We cannot allow them to consider lowering their shields now. I am increasing the power. Fire when ready, Mr. Worf.”
“Firing phasers,” the Klingon announced. Deanna grinned, one arm around Alexander’s shoulders, the other about Kyla’s, as she watched the small screen that showed Skal Torr’s shields safely absorbing the second blast.
“And now, we must leave with great alacrity.” Data rose and began to rapidly disconnect his computer padds.
A brilliant beam of light streaked past Deanna, dazzling her and bouncing blindingly off the nearby bulkhead. Instinctively, both Kyla and Alexander ducked, pulling Deanna down with them to the deck.
“Too late!” Worf shouted. “They are here!”
He moved over to the trio and lifted them all at once to their feet; behind them, at the far end of the tube, came the sound of heavy footsteps. Deanna glanced over her shoulder and saw four uniformed security guards racing toward them.
“The VISORs!” Kyla shouted, and Deanna quickly scooped hers up even as she grabbed Alexander’s hand and began to run.
Moments later, aboard the bridge of the Federation science vessel Skal Torr—now safely out of the Enterprise’s firing range—Captain T’Lal sat at her