Possession - J.M. Dillard [47]
Riker thought about that. “Those artifacts are his life’s work, and Deanna’s had some sort of mental communication with them. I know he’s a Vulcan, but considering what he’s been through—couldn’t a Vulcan have an obsession so great he’d act illogically to get a piece of information impossible for him to obtain any other way?”
Picard sighed. “Perhaps. Still, I’ll speak with him—”
“Please, sir,” Deanna said calmly from the doorway of her room, “I’d rather you didn’t.” She wore a long robe over her nightdress, and although her long hair was still disheveled, the anxiety had left her features; her expression was entirely peaceful.
Beverly stood beside her, a supportive hand on Troi’s shoulder. “I’ve given her something to relax her body and calm her meta conscious hyperactivity. I’m not sure I know what’s going on, but the drugs I gave her should help her get a dreamless sleep, which she sorely needs now.”
“I’m sorry, Captain, about the way I addressed you before,” Troi said sincerely. “I’ve developed quite a phobia toward those artifacts.”
“I’m sure we’ll all sleep better when they’re aboard the Vulcan science vessel,” Picard said comfortingly. “You stay in your quarters and catch up on your sleep. Let us take care of everything else. I want you to feel safe, Deanna.”
“Oh, I do, sir. And if Beverly’s right and I can have a few hours of dreamless sleep, I’m sure everything will seem much more normal when I wake up again.” She looked at Riker and smiled dazzlingly. “Thanks, Will, for staying here last night.”
“I’m just glad I was there when you needed me,” he assured her. “Call me when you wake up and we’ll have ‘breakfast’ together.”
She smiled and bade them goodbye as the three officers exited her quarters. From the corridor Riker watched as the doors to her quarters shut over her; he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he had about leaving her alone.
“Anything else you’d care to report, Doctor?” Picard asked quietly when he was sure they were out of Deanna’s earshot.
“Just what I told you. I don’t like her change in brain-wave activity. It’s as if she’s getting some new mental contact she’s not initiating and can’t turn off. I think that’s what’s triggering those bad dreams—or rather waking nightmares; she’s awake when she has them, which is why they’re so destructive. She gets no rest and is trapped in someone else’s reality. I wish I had a Betazoid doctor to confer with. I don’t like it.”
“You’re not the only one who doesn’t like it,” Picard grumbled. “Number One, I want you to contact Lieutenant Worf and have him post two guards outside Counselor Troi’s quarters, around the clock. Have them accompany her if she leaves her rooms. If we can’t safeguard her mind, the least we can do is protect her body!”
“Aye, sir,” Riker replied, surprised at how relieved he felt that Picard had responded to his own irrational fears for Deanna.
“It all seems so different now,” Tarmud whispered. “So clear.”
The human’s hazel eyes were open wide, his body shaking. His skin was pale, glistening with sweat as his body fought the invaders that had taken over his brain and were settling deep into its core—his amygdala.
“Our work,” Tarmud murmured dreamily. “It all makes so much more sense to me. It’s so much more important than I thought.”
“Yes,” Skel agreed, as he watched the human carefully. Tarmud was having trouble handling the entities, much more trouble than the younger, stronger Barbara Evans. Skel grew concerned that the human’s immune system, or perhaps his brain itself, couldn’t handle the invasion. But he needed Tarmud, needed him desperately. If he died before their work was done …
“Water,” the scientist said, gasping and closing his eyes.
Skel immediately procured water from the replicator. Tarmud drank it in one long swallow, then, without warning, hurled the glass at the Vulcan and followed it with a bodily attack. The human sprang from the couch and swung a punch at the Vulcan full force. Skel grabbed Tarmud’s fist only millimeters