Possession - J.M. Dillard [41]
“I’m the first officer, remember?” he chided her gently. “I know all, see all. You haven’t answered me.”
“I just assumed that Captain Picard hadn’t said anything directly to Skel because of the late hour. I can’t believe a Vulcan would deliberately violate a ship’s captain’s direct order.”
Riker mulled that over. “He had time enough to tell me about it. I can’t remember his exact words, but I got the impression he’d already told Skel, but I could have just assumed that. I’ll find out tomorrow. But Picard’s right—that scientist seems to have a very negative effect on you. What could he have been thinking, coming here at this hour?”
By now, Riker’s well-meaning “damsel-in-distress” routine was wearing thin. Deanna sat up against the couch, folded her arms, and said pointedly, “I might well ask you that same question.”
“I just finished getting briefed by Picard. He told me what happened with Skel and the artifacts. I was worried about you; I asked the computer if you were asleep yet and it said no, so …” He grinned. “I guess I should’ve asked if you had a gentlemen caller.”
She punched his arm playfully, even as she thought, That Vulcan is no gentleman. “You showed up at just the right time. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re part Betazoid.”
“Skel really did upset you,” Riker said. “You still haven’t told me what happened here.”
For some reason, Troi found herself reluctant to tell him the Vulcan had wanted to meld with her. She decided that most of it was her own leftover fears from the bad mental experiences she’d had earlier. There was no sense creating a crisis where none existed. “Nothing happened, Will. Honestly. I do have a residual reaction to Skel because of what happened today. I’m sure it will pass in time. But the captain’s right. I’d be better off not seeing him again.”
“Sounds fine with me,” Riker decided. “Let me stay here tonight—right here, on the couch. Don’t you think the presence of a faithful watchdog might help you sleep a little better?”
Normally, the suggestion would have insulted her, but not tonight. She didn’t want to lie awake in bed, anticipating another late-night visit from Skel that no doubt would never come. She placed a hand on Riker’s arm. “Would you mind doing that for me, Will? I’d be very grateful.”
He slung a companionable arm around her and pulled her close in a protective embrace. “Hey, what are friends for?”
Troi smiled and pressed against him, comforted by his strength and the trust she knew she could place in him. But even as he held her, she found her mind skirting back, not to Skel, but to something far more menacing.
Try as she might, she knew she couldn’t shake the sense of evil that emanated from those artifacts—and wouldn’t shake it until they were gone from the ship.
Chapter Four
SKEL WOKE SO SUDDENLY that for two-point-four seconds he could not remember where he was; for an additional three-point-one seconds, he could not remember who he was.
Although the environment of his cabin was heated to a comfortable degree of Vulcan warmth, he shivered as if ill. He should call for Dr. Crusher, he thought, then rejected that notion.
He needed T’Son, his healer. The human doctor, though skilled in Vulcan anatomy, was still merely human. Only T’Son could help quiet the demons that raced through his mind at night.
He swung his legs over the bed and drew a palm across his weary face. Tonight, it had not been his father who pursued him through the desert landscape of his childhood home; tonight, it had been Nabon, the deceased Ferengi whose leering face had tortured his dreams. Such a thing had never occurred; always, the face in the dream belonged to his father. Perhaps more significantly, it was not his mother’s voice who called the timely warning to him; tonight, it had been Troi who told him to run, to save himself. If T’Son were here, she would tell him this was understandable, as the counselor