Possession - J.M. Dillard [27]
Nabon’s head pounded. What was he talking about, logic? The Ferengi lifted the body of his brother, still lying facedown on the deck, and pushed it over on its back so the Vulcan could see the smashed face, the broken skull. “Where is the logic in this, Vulcan? Yet here it is. My brother. Dead—murdered at your hand!”
Skel took a short step back, as if the sight startled him, even with all his discipline. “Nabon. I assure you. I am not responsible for this. I left your brother here to pursue you through the ship. You saw me gaining on you, and fled. When would I have had time to do this? There must be someone else on board. Unless you did this.”
Nabon’s eyes widened as he stared horrified at the Vulcan. “Me! Why would I do this to my own brother, my DaiMon?”
You threw the rifle out the airlock, remember?
Remember?
No! Nabon cried out silently at the intrusive thoughts. I can’t remember… .
“I do not understand the causes of violence among people so accustomed to strong emotions,” the Vulcan was saying. “But it was clear to me you were furious with him. If there are only three of us on board, and I did not kill him, then logically—”
Nabon shook his head woefully. “You killed him. My only brother. My DaiMon.”
Skel had opened his mouth to counter the charge when a hailing whistle sounded loudly in the stillness, making Nabon jump. For a second he thought, The Vulcan is right, there is someone else on board!
But then he realized what it was as a computerized voice interrupted: “You are being hailed by the Federation Starship Enterprise. Please reply.”
We are saved! Nabon thought hopefully. Then, immediately after, he thought, The disease! That ship will hold hundreds of beings, families, children… . They will be exposed to insanity and terrible death. He gazed at his brother’s brutalized body. I cannot allow that to happen. Not even to a Federation ship.
(But the artifacts … the artifacts must not be harmed… .)
The automated hail answered again while Nabon’s brain warred with itself between self-sacrifice and self-survival.
Picard turned to his viewscreen as the image of the drifting ship blinked off and a static-filled picture of an unstaffed Ferengi control room appeared. He had Worf end the automated hail and stepped forward to address the crew himself. “This is Captain Picard of the Federation vessel Enterprise. Is there anyone who can acknowledge our hail?”
There was only silence and the eerie image of the vacant cabin.
“According to scanners,” Data said quietly, “everyone aboard is within range of that screen—the surviving Ferengi, the deceased one, and the Vulcan. Also, scanners indicate that there is a small stasis chamber out of camera range, with two small objects in it.”
“The artifacts?” Picard wondered aloud. Had Skel convinced the Ferengi to contain them properly? A stasis chamber was hardly adequate, but it was better than nothing.
But none of that could be seen in the camera’s view. The image was small, almost claustrophobic. All they really could see was the area immediately around the console. The console was severely damaged, with charred areas and a devastated control panel. Normally, he suspected, an officer would be manning the station, with the screen’s camera focused on his face. He wished he had a better view of the rest of the area.
“Anybody home?” Riker asked as they all peered at the strange sight.
“Mr. Worf,” Picard began, “get a lock on the Vulcan, and that stasis chamber. Be prepared to beam them up on my word.”
“Aye, sir,” Worf assured him.
“If the Vulcan scientist Skel is close enough to hear me,” Picard announced to the other ship, “be prepared to be beamed aboard the Enterprise. Now, Mr. Worf.”
“Energizing now, sir,” Worf said quietly.
As soon as they heard the whine of the transporter beam on