Possession - J.M. Dillard [38]
Worf found himself working to suppress his own smile and heard himself thinking that, yes, they might have a very good chance of getting past that stage quite soon.
Deanna stood before the food replicator in her quarters, irritably drumming her fingers. She’d wanted a hot chocolate, but was afraid the mild stimulant in the drink would interfere with her sleep—and if there was anything she needed after this interminably long and depressing day, it was sleep. So she decided that she would instead order a hot milk laced with honey and vanilla—but she really wanted the chocolate. So she found herself locked in indecision, staring at the food replicator as if it were an altar on which she should make an offering. There was too much on her mind, too many thoughts swirling in her brain—particularly the last discussion she’d had with Picard:
“Captain, destroy them. Throw them out an airlock. Send them into space,” she’d insisted after she’d come out of the trance the artifacts had produced. “They’re too dangerous to be kept on board the Enterprise.”
“But they don’t belong to us,” he’d reminded her. “What effect would that have on Skel’s research, if we did such an outrageous act? How would we explain ourselves to the Vulcans?”
“If you had felt them the way I have, you would understand—”
“Deanna,” he’d said patiently, placing a comforting hand on her arm, “you know I trust your judgment. But you have had two difficult mental encounters after a long day with too much sorrow in it. I don’t doubt that the impressions you picked up from those artifacts would’ve shaken anyone. But we have no right to destroy them. However, I can make arrangements to pass on the responsibility of holding them to someone else. I will ask the Vulcans to arrange a rendezvous with their nearest science vessel. With luck, we can unload the artifacts before we arrive at the TechnoFair. After all, Skel’s original plans did not call for having them at the science gathering.”
It had not been nearly sufficient, Deanna knew, but she’d understood it was the only compromise she would get. And it would have been a fair one under normal circumstances.
“Another thing, Counselor,” Picard had said sternly. “Until those artifacts are off this ship, I want you to stay as far away from them as possible. And Skel, also.”
“Captain?” she’d asked, surprised.
“You’ve been through enough for one mission. I want you to take a day off and relax. Forget about scientists, artifacts, TechnoFairs, and schedules. Deanna, you need time to recover from the mental stress you’ve endured today. I’ll make apologies to Skel. He’s a telepath. He’ll surely understand.”
“But, Captain, I don’t think this is necessary—”
“That’s an order, Counselor,” he’d announced, ending the conversation.
Now Deanna knew he was right, but she hated to admit that. And in truth, she was grateful not to have anything more to do with the artifacts. If she was being honest, she would also admit that she would be happy not to see Skel again either. What a tragic figure he was; what a burden he had to live with. But if Vulcan healers could not help him, there was nothing a lone Betazoid counselor could do.
“Just water, cool,” she finally told the replicator. It obliged immediately, providing a frosted, sweating glass; she lifted it and drained it in a swallow.
Before she finished, a soft chime came at the door.
She glanced at the time, then immediately sensed the scientist, Skel, outside her door. Her heart rate instantly accelerated.
But the captain said—
She took hold of herself when she realized how upset the Vulcan’s presence was making her. She was acting like a child. No doubt Picard hadn’t had a chance to say anything to Skel, and didn’t think that at this late hour the scientist would want to do anything but sleep. But, of course, Vulcans could do without sleep for days.