Possession - J.M. Dillard [40]
Deanna sat as rigid as stone as Lwaxana’s voice shrilled in her brain. Had her contact with the artifacts made her psychotic?
“For just the briefest moment,” Skel continued blandly, unaware of the panic the counselor was feeling, “I would receive the exact same mental sense that you received from the artifacts. We would not need inadequate words. I would receive the image and understand. This meld would advance my knowledge of these subjects I have studied so long—”
RUN! GET OUT OF THE ROOM! GET AS FAR FROM HIM AS YOU CAN!
Mother, please! Deanna heard herself scold the person she could not possibly be sensing. Lwaxana was light-years away, so far out of mental range as to be ludicrous. She blinked, forcing herself to listen to what the Vulcan was saying.
“I know it is a great imposition to ask of you,” Skel continued. “But this would allow me to share this impression with my colleagues and the healers on my planet who are still working with living victims of the disease. Will you agree?”
Deanna counted every ridge on her knuckles as she stammered, “A Vulcan mind meld? To capture the impression I received from the artifacts? Well, that certainly makes sense—”
Her urge to flee the room, to flee from Skel was so overwhelming she couldn’t help but wonder if he could sense it. No, of course not, Vulcans were touch telepaths. He would have to touch her. Suddenly, the thought of him placing his hands on her face, of making the neural connections with his fingertips, and of becoming one with her mind was so repellent that she knew she couldn’t go through with it. In Vulcan society, it was one of their most intimate acts. No. No, she couldn’t.
Apparently taking her bland comments as consent, Skel approached her, one hand already outstretched. “If you will just remain as you are, we can do this in the briefest moment. I will be swift, and will touch no part of your mind but where the impression lies. Counselor, will you look at me?”
He touched her chin and raised her eyes to his.
Troi gasped as their eyes met for the very first time. Lwaxana’s voice shrilled in her brain for her to escape, to run. She thought wildly that Skel would hear her mother, that he would be insulted, then realized what a ridiculous thing it was to worry about—when there was so much more to fear in the depths of those Vulcan eyes. She had to get away! But she could not make herself move from the couch.
Skel brought his hand toward her face.
Abruptly, the door chimed again, which sounded this time like the loudest thing she had ever heard. She pulled away from the Vulcan’s hand.
“Come in!” she cried, rising in one smooth, sudden move away from him and toward the door.
The doors slid open to reveal Will Riker, his dark eyebrows rising at the sight of Skel. The Vulcan stood, hands clenched, perfectly poised, in the center of Deanna’s living room.
“I didn’t realize you had a guest,” Will said blandly, but Troi could sense a myriad of strange feelings in him—reactions to the presence of the Vulcan.
“It’s perfectly all right,” Deanna said with false cheerfulness as she took Will’s elbow and led him into the room. She gripped his sleeve as if it were a lifeline, as if this were the only chance she had to save herself. His gaze transformed from one of suspicion to concern, as if he could sense her emotional state as easily as she could his.
“Of course,” Skel agreed. “I was just leaving.” He turned to her and bowed slightly. “I thank you for your time, Counselor. You have been a great help to me.”
And before Deanna could gather her wits about her to get a sense of his true reactions to her fleeing the meld, he was gone. It was just as well. She really didn’t want to touch his mind again, not now, not ever. She sagged a little, as the doors closed behind the Vulcan.
Suddenly, Will took her arms and faced her. “What was he doing here?”
“We were just talking about his experience with …” Deanna began in confusion.
Riker interrupted. “Captain Picard left express orders that he was to have no contact with you. Why was he here?”
Deanna