Possession - J.M. Dillard [24]
And if he hadn’t gotten rid of them, then what had he shoved into the airlock?
With sickening dread, he looked about him and realized that he no longer clutched the phaser. Had he been so crazed by panic that he’d mistakenly jettisoned it? What had possessed him to make such a deadly mistake?
Fear left him nauseated and lightheaded; in desperation, he pulled the contents from his pocket to study them, to verify with his own eyes the objects of his doom.
There they lay in his palm: cold and smooth as polished metal, dark as night, yet glittering like prismatic jewels. It was so simple, so simple: If he would only turn them over to Skel, this whole nightmare would be over. The Vulcan would leave him alone then, and he and his brother could spend the time they needed to make their ship functional once more.
As he stared at the coveted articles, the small lids began to rise. This had become his favorite part, to watch the tops lift up and the strange pulsating rainbow light grow from within. It was calming, relaxing … but he couldn’t imagine what possible value that little trick could have to anyone.
He had failed to shove them out the airlock, but he could send them down a refuse recycler. However, it was obvious the devices had their own inner power, a force he still didn’t understand. If their energy was stronger or incompatible with the recycler’s, it could cause a power surge that could lead to an explosion.
He blinked, staring at the shells. An explosion. The idea began to excite him. He imagined the clashing forces of the small ship’s tiny generators ripping it apart, the terror, the pain, the surprise of it as his foolish brother and that horrible Vulcan were ripped to shreds right before his eyes.
Not the Vulcan or the artifacts. Never the artifacts. The artifacts must be safe …)
“But someone must suffer,” Nabon said gleefully, then broke off with a gasp at the sound of his own words. What was this insanity? He would be killed as well in any such explosion.
He glanced up swiftly from the closing shells as his sensitive hearing picked up a sound. A footstep? He’d stayed here too long. Pocketing the devices, Nabon bolted from his hiding place, even as his subconscious came up with several interesting ways of destroying the ship—if he ever had the time.
“It is traveling under inertia,” Worf told his captain as they drew closer to the object of their pursuit. “The shields are down. Its tractor beam is still pulsing, but we can easily stay out of its path.”
“Well, it’s certainly a Ferengi vessel,” Picard remarked, pondering the ship’s odd situation. He wished he knew more about the complexity and danger of the disease-harboring artifacts. He didn’t want to risk his crew unnecessarily, but neither could he leave those deadly objects with unscrupulous Ferengi thieves.
“It’s also the same vessel that left Vulcan after Skel’s disappearance,” Riker told him. “The markings on the vessel match the information the Vulcans gave us.”
“Mr. Worf, why isn’t the ship using power to travel?” Picard asked.
“Unknown as of yet,” Worf replied. “According to scanners they have power to spare. There has been serious internal damage, possibly from phaser fire. Life support is functional, but everything else is either off line or marginal.”
“How many on board?” Riker asked the Klingon.
“There were two Ferengi, but one is dead. The other is alive and on the move. Several areas of the ship are sealed off. There is one Vulcan.”
“Alive?” Picard wondered aloud.
“Alive and conscious,” Worf confirmed.
“A Vulcan could’ve easily killed that Ferengi to save his own life,” Riker surmised, “or to protect the artifacts.”
“Could have,” Picard agreed, “but—would have? I don’t know. This is a scientist, Number One, not a Starfleet officer.” Picard turned to the ship’s counselor. “Thank you for joining us, Deanna. I know it’s been a very long day for you. But can you sense anything aboard the ship?”
The Betazoid stared at the drifting ship for a long quiet moment. “Terrible confusion. Fear. The gamut of emotions