Possession - J.M. Dillard [60]
“What I don’t understand, Number One,” Picard complained to his first officer as Riker entered the ready room, “is how a personal communiqué from Guinan can get to me faster than a Starfleet security file.”
“Security file, sir?” Riker asked.
Picard sighed. Will had come here no doubt intending to bring his own matters to the captain’s attentions, but Picard was so distracted he’d begun the conversation before Riker ever had a chance.
“About those artifacts,” Picard explained. “Starfleet is supposed to be sending me a file that pertains to events that occurred some eighty years ago involving Skel’s artifacts. I’d certainly like to see that material, and find out what the hell it is we’re housing.” He glowered at his small computer screen as if the cheery letter from Guinan was somehow responsible for it all. He’d be damned if he could understand how rare alcoholic beverages and new methods of incorporating chocolate in food and drink could enhance a religious experience anyway. He clicked off the screen.
Riker had one of those small wry grins on his face. “You’re worried about Deanna, aren’t you?”
He hated it when Will read him so easily, but, of course, in a first officer, that was a valuable trait. He felt himself clenching and unclenching his jaw, and he forced himself to stop it. “Yes. Of course I’m worried about her. She’s rarely wrong about her ‘feelings,’ about the things she senses on this ship. Part of me feels I should do what she says, just chuck the bloody things out the nearest airlock, but—”
Riker nodded. “I doubt if there’ll be anything in that Starfleet communiqué that’ll give you justification for that action.”
“No, but there may be some other information we don’t have that could be critical.”
“Critical?” Riker seemed confused. “In case there’s a breach in security? In case the infection gets out?”
“I feel comfortable that we have the things secured, but, after all, the Vulcans felt comfortable that they did, also!” Picard faced his first officer. “That’s not why you came in here, Commander. You came to say—?”
Riker took a deep breath. “Lieutenant Worf reported an unusual occurrence to me that I wanted to bring to your attention. One of the scientists, Dr. Kyla Dannelke, reports being attacked in her quarters by an unknown male crew member—probably an ensign. He was not wearing a communicator. She fought him off and escaped, but after perusing our personnel files she could not identify her attacker. However, Worf’s security personnel have found some of the theater group’s greasepaint, a wig, and a voice modulator stowed in an out-of-the-way locker. Worf thinks her assailant was disguised.”
Of all the things Picard expected Riker to bring up, this was not even on the list. “Could it have been one of the other scientists? Or their assistants or technicians?” There were at least one hundred fifty passengers currently aboard the Enterprise. It was too hard for him to believe that one of his crew was capable of such a crime. Their people were so well screened, continually tested for mental competence—and normally under the subtle empathic scan of a Betazoid counselor, he thought, realizing Deanna had been under a specially sedated sleep today.
“Anything’s possible,” Riker admitted. “As you can imagine, Mr. Worf is not happy about this. The entire security staff has been briefed, but other than that—”
Picard nodded. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I want to know if there are any further developments. Perhaps I should call on Dr. Dannelke and offer my apologies.”
Riker looked half amused, half uncomfortable. “I spoke to Dr. Dannelke personally, sir. She’s planning on spending her evening with Mr. Worf and his son. She assured me she would feel quite safe there.”
“I see,” Picard said, slightly surprised. That made him think of something else.