Possession - J.M. Dillard [19]
“That is not possible, as you well know. My research is for the advancement of knowledge, of understanding …” He trailed off. Of understanding the small compartments, the artifacts that hold the deadly disease. The artifacts …
Skel sat up smoothly, in one swift move, startling both Ferengi. Dervin, the armed one, straightened as he clutched the phaser more tightly and moved shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother. It was a simple matter to ignore pain, even disorientation, once one could focus on something significant. Skel was focused now, and the two Ferengi must have realized it, because they both seemed much more wary. Skel was physically more imposing and a great deal more powerful than either of them.
“What have you done with the artifacts?” He asked calmly, softly, rationally—but the Ferengi heard the subtle undercurrent of danger in the question and aimed the phaser at Skel’s heart.
“The artifacts? You mean, your treasures? Why, they are as safe as can be, Master Scientist. Where could they be safer than in your presence?”
The two aliens stepped away from each other to reveal two palm-size black receptacles lying on the console—unshielded, exposed for the first time in almost a century to the open air.
To unwitting victims.
Only ninety years of discipline and training in Vulcan philosophy kept Skel from gasping aloud in terror as he stared at the objects of his research for the first time without the protection of multiple fail-safe forcefields. How benign, how passive, how insignificant they appeared—and yet how elegant and lovely in their simplicity: the dim flickering light inside the Ferengi vessel reflected upon them, causing a shimmering play of rose and turquoise mother-of-pearl highlights to dance across their shining black surfaces.
Skel immediately clamped down on the surge of powerful emotion. He was a Vulcan. He would handle this logically, emotionlessly … for only through calm thoughtful logic could he solve this problem. And the galaxy was depending on him to solve it here and now.
“It is totally unsafe to house the artifacts as you have them,” Skel said in the most rational of tones. “To expose them to a normal environment, without protective forcefields around them, will cause them to degrade. In only a few hours, they will deteriorate completely and be worthless. They must be protected if they are to maintain … their value.” He did not look at the Ferengi as he said that, because to look at them would be to see the artifacts so close by … to see his father’s grinning face.
“I told you, Dervin,” the smaller Ferengi, Nabon, hissed at his brother. He was speaking softly, but Skel heard him clearly. “I told you they kept these behind forcefields to protect them.”
“To protect them from theft,” Dervin said, sneering, “as though any Vulcan would have the sense to steal them. He’s just trying to keep us away from them. Keep us from finding out what secret they hold inside.”
Dervin was indeed correct about that, Skel mused. He would do anything to protect these aliens from what was inside those artifacts; he would even give his life. But the cultural perspective of the Ferengi would never permit them to believe that.
“You could be correct, DaiMon,” Skel said with the same calm tone, “but if you are wrong, you could be destroying the very treasure you seek.”
Dervin’s face ran a gamut of repellent emotions as the Ferengi tried to rationally work the problem out. Instead of coming up with an answer, though, he merely fired more questions at Skel. “The Vulcans have less security than any other race. So why are these small things so jealously guarded? Tell us that, Master Scientist. If you do not, I will let them deteriorate—if that is in fact what they will do—and watch all your years of study go to waste! What is in these containers?”
“Brother, listen to me,” Nabon implored. “If the Vulcans saw fit to keep these things secured, they must be dangerous. The Vulcans have no interest in profit. They must have