Possession - J.M. Dillard [102]
A second series of scans of the Enterprise—after it had fired upon its guest—pointed most definitively toward an outbreak of the madness: violence was erupting on almost every deck. Indeed, after the incident, Commander Riker had exploded in uncontrolled fury and leapt from his chair to physically strike another crew member. Within seconds, a brawl had erupted on the bridge—emotional behavior that even humans would find unbecoming.
“It was as though,” T’Lal explained carefully to DuCheyne, “they had managed to maintain control of the infection until the moment their vessel fired upon us. At that point, Commander Riker lost all sense of decorum.”
DuCheyne—indisputably human and irascible in temperament—furrowed his wrinkled brow so deeply that his thick eyebrows presented one unbroken and shaggy white line above his glistening dark eyes. “Lost all sense of decorum?”
T’Lal continued patiently, choosing to ignore the admiral’s exasperating habit of repeating and challenging each statement. “He rose shouting from his chair, sir, and struck a junior officer with such force that said officer fell to the deck.”
“Oh. You mean he went berserk.”
“Yes, sir.” The Vulcan paused. “Our scans indicate similar outbursts all over the Enterprise. Healer T’Son says there can be no doubt that the majority of the crew is infected.”
DuCheyne shook his head. “And all those scientists on their way to the TechnoFair … now, that would be a tragedy of massive proportion.” He glared at her, his small gleaming eyes filled with a sudden fierceness. “Why did you people keep those damned artifacts, anyway?”
T’Lal opened her mouth to explain the concepts of tolerance for all life-forms and of knowledge, which protected one more securely than ignorance, but the old admiral silenced her with a shake of his head and a wave.
“I know, I know, I don’t need a lecture on Vulcan philosophy. Look, Picard notified us of an outbreak aboard his vessel; he also notified us that he had performed the necessary shutdown to destroy the creatures. That means one of two things: either a mistake was made during the shutdown or the creatures have mutated so that they can’t be as easily killed. Knowing Picard and his crew, I’d say the shutdown followed procedure very precisely. And that means one thing—”
“Sir,” T’Lal interjected, “this is a science vessel; we do not sport the weaponry of a starship. Furthermore, our crew is entirely Vulcan. If you are asking me to destroy the Enterprise with all hands aboard her—”
The shaggy white brows lifted in clear annoyance at her impertinence. “I’m not asking you to do anything, Captain. I’m ordering you. However, I’m not so damned old or arrogant that I fail to realize you don’t have the firepower to bring the Enterprise down alone. You are to remain in the vicinity until you’re joined by reinforcements.”
“Admiral …” T’Lal began patiently.
His tone softened, and she saw in the shadowed, shining eyes a glimmer of the regret she herself felt. “I understand, Captain, that you would prefer to find a way to cure those infected by the madness without harming them or their ship. And, believe me, we’ll do everything possible to see that happen. But if we can’t stop them before they reach the TechnoFair … we’ll have no choice but to destroy that ship and all aboard her.”
*
In the dim echoing expanse of the cargohold, Deanna pressed her back against the cool bulkhead and slid slowly into a sitting position. Beside her, Alexander and Dannelke rested cross-legged on the deck, while Worf paced, phaser still in his grip. The four of them were still gasping from the narrowness of their escape, while Data—perfectly rested, without a hair out of place—located a power panel in hopes of scanning for other pursuers.
“I believe we are safe for the moment,” the android said. “Although …”
He gestured at a viewscreen on the bulkhead panel.