Possession - J.M. Dillard [42]
The thought of Deanna Troi made him recall the strange aborted conversation he’d had with the Betazoid; if only he could have melded with her, if only he could’ve discovered for himself what she’d learned from her mental contact with the artifacts.
Troi’s fear of melding with him had been a shock when it had touched him across the space that separated them. So much like his own reaction the instant before T’Son’s fingertips touched his face: that same fear, that same impulse to bolt, to flee the room. Troi had felt all those things, and he had felt them from her, raw emotions so alien to him. Emotions that were at once alien, complex, repellent—and exciting.
He rubbed his face tiredly again. He could tell by the reaction he’d received from her that he should not request the meld again. Besides, if Captain Picard found out …
He blinked, frowning. If Captain Picard found out … what? The thought seemed to arrest itself, as if it were impossible for him to follow it to its logical conclusion. He decided this was yet another side effect of the two phaser blasts he’d absorbed. Since the two Ferengi had shot him, his synaptic responses seemed off, slightly out of kilter. Dr. Crusher had assured him that the symptoms would diminish in a day or so. He hoped she was correct; he had no time to indulge slow synapses.
He had to prepare for the TechnoFair. Fortunately, when Dervin took him from Vulcan, the Ferengi had stolen the computer download of his work as well. Before he’d gone to pursue Nabon, Skel had found those cassettes right on the console where the artifacts had been. He was grateful now that he’d had the presence of mind to grab them and put them in the pockets of his tunic before pursuing Nabon.
That was when Dervin had regained consciousness. That was when he tried to stop you from taking the data cassettes and from pursuing Nabon. That was when he attacked you. That was when you—
The memory flickered and faded out of reach like a static-filled transmission. No. Dervin had not attacked him for the cassettes. Dervin had been in his dream last night. That was why he was confused.
But Skel’s work was here. It was one of the few things that had gone right since he’d been kidnapped. With the help of the Enterprise’s computer and some lab equipment, he would be able to duplicate his displays. He and Tarmud would be able to work together on their project at last. He was pleased they had been able to get so much done through correspondence, but the exchange of information and ideas face-to-face was always so much more productive. To be able to collaborate, then have an open forum like the TechnoFair where they could share their findings among other scientists was an opportunity that would come only rarely.
In fact, the Federation’s Universal TechnoFair was a truly unique event. Skel and Tarmud would be able to discuss their work with some of the finest minds in the explored galaxy—scientists with whom it might otherwise be impossible to communicate due to distance and time. Scientists whom Skel might never have been able to meet, since he rarely left Vulcan. It was almost overwhelming, he realized—the contacts he could make at this fair, the associations he could develop. The influx of fresh ideas and viewpoints could turn his work around, help him solve some of the more intriguing mysteries of the artifacts, their self-generating forcefields, their mysterious language. At last, something positive might come from the devastating disease that had been inflicted on his people.
All those scientists. All those people—their helpers, aides, technicians, assistants. From across the galaxy. World after world after world. All at the TechnoFair.
Skel had a sudden image of himself lecturing before the gathered mass of scientists, with Tarmud beside him at the podium. He saw the audience of sentient beings of every shape, and organic type: the intellectual wealth of the Federation, all with their eyes upon him.
Their eyes. You will meet their eyes. One by one. Touch their hands.