Possession - J.M. Dillard [22]
Both his brother, Dervin, and the Vulcan still struggled for the energy pistol, but Nabon knew that the only reason the Vulcan hadn’t succeeded in pulling it away from his brother was because he was concentrating on saving the artifact from damage. Dervin was right; the alien devices must be both valuable and powerful, but Nabon sensed the Vulcan was right, too. They would bring no profit to them, only grief.
(No, no—the artifacts must be protected at all costs …)
Nabon shook off the oddly intrusive thought and continued his original reverie: he had begged his brother not to pursue this theft. But once Dervin had uncovered the old data on an abandoned vessel they had salvaged, an ancient report that referred to the valuable artifacts brought to Vulcan, he would not be swayed. Nabon didn’t want to think about how much latinum had been spent to enable them to get past the Vulcan security devices that had guarded the artifacts, nor how many months of planning. Dervin’s ambition was powerful; it was possible he would fight to the death for these artifacts, and bring nothing but ruin to them all. But if Nabon could get the devices away from him, put them in an airlock, send them into the vacuum of space—
(No, never. They must be cared for, like the jewels they are …)
His brother would hate him, disenfranchise him, but they would live. Nabon was willing to risk anything, even poverty, if it meant he might save his and his brother’s life.
Nabon crept over to the command console and reached into a compartment beneath it. Pulling out another hand-held phaser—which, like the first, had been stolen at great risk from a poorly guarded Federation cache—he carefully set it to stun … then reconsidered. Vulcans massed so much more than Ferengi; would the same blast that could render his brother unconscious fell a mature Vulcan male—or merely remove his logical inhibitions and give full rein to his anger?
Dervin must’ve seen what he was doing, because he shouted, “Hurry, Nabon! He has the artifact! Fire the weapon! Kill him if you must!”
At that moment the Vulcan turned his head, staring directly into Nabon’s eyes, and what the Ferengi saw there chilled his blood. Skel’s dark slanted eyes bore into him with fearsome intensity.
This must be Vulcan rage. This must be what happens when they lose their precious emotional control… .
“No!” Nabon shouted, unsure of what he protested. “No! You won’t! You will not!” He squeezed the trigger.
A bright eye-paining blast engulfed both the Vulcan and Nabon’s brother; for a bright millisecond, both turned to regard him in surprise. Dervin fell to the deck first, followed—a harrowing second later—by the Vulcan.
Both had gripped the rifle, which clattered to the deck beneath them. Nabon darted over and, gasping, dug the weapon out from under the unconscious bodies. But the small black shell was still gripped tightly in the Vulcan’s hand.
Nabon pried the artifact from him, painfully extracting the thing finger by finger. Then he turned, ready to slam the lid down on the other and take that as well. To his surprise, the artifact on the counter was closed again and sealed, showing no signs of inner light. He grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket with the other one, then leaned over his brother.
Dervin was alive, facedown, breathing easily thanks to the prop provided by his prominent orbital ridges. Oh, he’d be furious by the time he came to, totally furious. Nabon shook his head at the prospect of facing his brother’s wrath—but he knew he was doing the right thing. He would save them from his brother’s insatiable greed and poor judgment.
A sudden spasm of hunger shook him—a hunger such as Nabon had never felt, one that tormented not his belly but his mind. For the most fleeting of seconds, a sudden image crossed his mind: himself, standing over his unconscious brother with the phaser,