Possession - J.M. Dillard [104]
Who would touch me, feed from me, like a thousand strangers fondling me over and over. She shook off the thought and closed her eyes, then opened her mind and emotions to the swirling, maddening evil that engulfed the ship.
The force of the desire nearly knocked her off her feet. She staggered, reeling.
On either side of her, Kyla and Data each grabbed an arm and supported her; she could not have resisted their aid had she wanted to. The lust, the hunger, the insatiable need pressed against her, smothered her, filling her mind, her body, her soul with dread and disgust.
“Breathe deep, Deanna!” Kyla’s voice came to her faintly through the horror, as if from a great distance. “Deep, steady, breaths … you can do this …”
No! Behind the VISOR, tears of panic filled her eyes, spilled down her cheeks. No, I can’t …
Amid the maelstrom of depraved desire came a soft still voice—a voice infinitely strong, infinitely soothing, infinitely serene. I am here, Deanna.
“T’Reth …”
Deanna reached for that calm and pulled it to her.
I am here, the voice assured her. I will not leave you. You can withstand their force. Take strength from me, from my Vulcan discipline. Touch my mind …
The bay doors slid open. In the dimness, a thin figure dressed in medical blue staggered toward them. In its desperation, it stumbled, falling to one knee; behind its frame of red hair streamed an eerie violet halo.
“Beverly.” Deanna gasped. Crusher’s eyes were wild feverish pools of darkness in a pale face slicked with blood and sweat. At the sight of Troi, she released a gasp of pure craving.
“Hungry,” she whispered, her eyes growing impossibly huge. “So hungry …” She reached for Deanna’s face with a trembling hand.
Touch my mind, child.
Deanna drew a breath and reached out, mentally, for the soothing balm of T’Reth’s Vulcan control, then opened her eyes to see Worf, blocking Crusher’s advance.
“Let her come to me,” Deanna whispered.
The Klingon drew back. The infected woman surged forward and consumed Deanna in a crushing embrace, pulling Troi’s face toward hers.
“So hungry!” Crusher’s uniform was damp with perspiration, her body trembling uncontrollably. For a terrifying millisecond, her eyes blazed in a brilliantly colorful nova.
Deanna pulled back, gasping at the loud crackle of power, at the electric blue sparks that attacked the VISOR like a swarm of maddened bees.
Be calm, little one. This will pass.
A soft hum; the sparks faded as abruptly as they had appeared. For a breathless moment, Crusher stood swaying, eyes closed, arms still enfolding Deanna.
The violet aura abruptly vanished, like a forcefield damped. Crusher’s grip eased; she opened her eyes and drew back in confusion. “Deanna?” She glanced from Troi to the other three VISORed adults. “Good Lord, what’s happening?”
It continued for what seemed to Troi to be hours; at one point, the cargohold became a Hieronymous Bosch vision of hell, with dozens of crew members held by invisible fields—all of them reaching, screaming in desperation for Deanna. But T’Reth remained steadfast throughout, helping Deanna maintain her tenuous control as they painstakingly freed each person. At last, no new crew members were entering the hold, and the forcefield corrals were gradually emptying.
But there were more, still more.
Picard, trapped in the brig. Deanna opened her mind, searched for him, then immediately forced herself to shut him out: He was wild, insane, screaming for her in his confinement.
And there was one other who had not come: Skel.
You will have to go to him, Skel’s mother warned. He has lived with them too long; their hold on him is strong.
Deanna sensed a startling emotion in the Vulcan voice. You’re afraid, aren’t you? You fear he may not survive the cure.
I cannot know the effect it will have on him. They have been with him since his childhood. He may not survive the cure—but his death will be a relief to him, even so.
But if he dies, Deanna realized, your spirit—and his—will be loosed upon the winds. That was