Possession - J.M. Dillard [105]
I accept whatever happens, T’Reth answered placidly. But my son will, at last, be free.
Chapter Twelve
JEAN-LUC PICARD HUDDLED shivering on the brig deck, allowing his entities to gorge themselves on his terror and rage. His eyes were wide, yet he saw not the bulkheads of the Enterprise’s cell, but the gray metal honeycomb interior of the Borg ship.
They won’t use me—I won’t let them use me …
Footsteps behind him, soft voices—he laughed at the sounds. Let them come for him—he would not permit them to use him. He would die here first, alone in his madness, and they would die with him, too.
He turned and peered—delirious, sweating—at the faces that gathered on the other side of the forcefield: the pale moon that was the android, the darker countenance of the Klingon, Will Riker’s bearded face …
Yet they were different—the eyes were covered in metal. Picard released a laugh that escalated into a sob. The Borg—they had transformed his people, even as they had once transformed him into Locutus, into neither human nor machine, but a monstrous marriage of metal and flesh.
“No,” he murmured, hugging himself. “No!”
Voices beyond the field.
“Take it easy, Captain. We’ll have you out of there in a minute. Data?”
“I’m afraid I was quite thorough, Commander. These circuits are fused beyond repair.”
“Then stand back—I’ll blast them until the power is interrupted and the field collapses—”
“The conduits provide too much power, Mr. Worf You would be fatally shocked. I am afraid that only I can release the captain—”
An abrupt sound of metal slamming against metal—Picard glanced up and saw a bright shower of sparks, heard a hum followed by an abrupt pop.
Riker’s bearded face, the eyes hidden behind a metal band. Not the blinking red Borg sensor-scope, at least, but Picard cringed nevertheless. “Captain, can you hear us? Do you know us?”
With a roar, he flung himself upward at his first officer—and struck an immovable object with a gasp. He flailed, only to find his arms pinned.
“Captain—it is Commander Data. Please do not resist us; I do not wish to harm you.”
He howled in pure frustration, a sudden unbearable surge of hunger causing him to seek their eyes, their eyes—but there were none to be found.
A soft voice: “Let me get close to him … And then, Captain. Look at me. It’s Deanna. Let me help you …”
Her presence pulled at him like the moon at the tide; he stared up at her, seeking her dark luminous eyes, but they, too, were covered by metal. And yet—here was relief: emotional warmth, compassion—but, best of all, anguish at the sight of him. He reached for that pain, gazing deep into the metal facets of her VISOR.
His entities surged up and out, racing toward her, making his nerves sing. They were ravenous, and for a moment he feared for her, but there was nothing he could do. They flooded from him into her; his sorrow was incalculable as they drained out of him leaving him empty, hollow.
At the same instant, the metal band across her face shimmered with electric blue light. He blinked, dazzled …
Then he smiled at the realization that he was free, his enemy defeated. The momentary pleasure filled his hollowness and made him whole again.
The next moment he stared back in utter confusion at Counselor Troi, Number One, Mr. Worf, and Commander Data—each of them sporting VISORs and huddling around him on the floor—of the brig? Even more disturbing was that he was being held protectively by Data.
He pulled away from the android, reorganized his uniform, and attempted to stand—but his body felt as though he’d run a marathon and lost, then been beaten severely by the disappointed spectators. He staggered. Lieutenant Worf caught and supported him, and this time he did not resist.
“What—what’s happened here?”
Troi removed her VISOR; the others followed suit. “What’s the last thing you remember, sir?”
The memory of Riker’s attack returned to him; instinctively, he recoiled from them.
“It’s all right, Captain,” Deanna assured him. “Commander Riker is cured, as are you. He infected you