Possession - J.M. Dillard [52]
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know,” the officer explained. “She’s really tall, and very blond. But she was wearing something on her face, so I couldn’t recognize her. There are so many new scientists on board. Lieutenant Singh is with me as well, and he didn’t know her either.”
“Very good, Lieutenant.” He was about to tell them he was on his way when Johannsen spoke again.
“We checked with the computer, sir, to see if she was being pursued, and according to the scanners, she isn’t. But she did ask for help, sir. Specifically, she asked for you.”
Worf had a sudden sinking premonition as to the identity of the scientist. “Where is she now?”
“Computer says she’s on Deck Three, still running.”
“Good work, Ensign,” Worf said, signing off. He alerted his staff to have a crew of four security officers on standby, and then he told the lift to take him to Deck Three.
If possible, he wanted to handle this one himself.
Exhausted and gasping, Kyla stopped her flight and leaned against a bulkhead to catch her breath, pressing a hand against her aching ribs. With the other, she lifted the visor, pushing it up to her hairline so that she could focus better.
A scan in each direction indicated she was safe—for the moment. The entire incident seemed unbelievable; she’d never heard of crime on a starship before. Most people considered starships the safest places in the galaxy. Yet the sight of the young ensign’s eyes had chilled Kyla to the bone; she’d never seen such calculated murderous rage before. Was it possible that an Enterprise crew member could have suddenly developed homicidal tendencies?
Impossible. Just as impossible as the crewman’s grinning indifference to his own wounds, just as impossible as the notion that Kyla herself might be going mad.
She tensed at the soft rustle of cloth—or was it a breath? She was so paranoid now, almost anything sounded like pursuit; she paused, listening, not daring to breathe herself.
Another soft sound. Dannelke dropped the visor back down, letting it focus on a distant point she couldn’t quite make out. Nothing. Yet …
She glanced each way, then took off again, keeping her legs firmly under her, pushing off the deck plates, picking up speed. She rounded another corner and glanced back over her shoulder one last time—
And slammed into something solid. Something that clutched her in a viselike grip.
She exploded into a fury of action, kicking and fighting to free her arms.
“Kyla!” a strong baritone yelled, making her look up. The ophthalmic visor focused wildly on a brown face, a ridged skull, and a pair of fierce glowering eyes.
She ripped the visor off to confirm what she was seeing. “Worf, thank God!” she exhaled, hugging him impulsively.
Then, realizing what she was doing, she moved away, blushing. Desperate to recover her aplomb, she swept the myriad stray hairs that had escaped her braid away from her face, and asked, “What took you so long?”
He raised his prominent eyebrows in surprise, which made her smile; she enjoyed catching him off-guard. She had a feeling it didn’t happen too often.
“What took me—?” he started, then caught himself, took a deep breath, and restored his professional demeanor. “Dr. Dannelke, you have been quite the moving object!”
“Oh, we’re back to Doctor and Lieutenant again, huh?” She leaned against the bulkhead again to catch her breath.
“Kyla,” Worf said quietly, “what is wrong? Why are you fleeing through the ship wildly as if you were being pursued?”
“Because I am being pursued,” she explained, as she waited for her heart rate to slow.
“By whom?” Worf questioned.
“He didn’t show me his credentials before he attacked me, Worf.”
The Klingon stiffened. “You were attacked? Aboard the Enterprise?”
“I know, it sounds impossible. But it happened. And aboard your precious ship.” She pushed away from the bulkhead. “Come back to my quarters. I’ll show you.”
They said nothing on the way back to her quarters; Kyla saw no need.