Possession - J.M. Dillard [70]
“Sound advice,” Skel said to Tarmud. “We will all have to show more caution. We will all have to choose our moments.”
Tarmud considered his words and nodded.
Beneath a starry, moonless sky, Deanna moved across a desert plain toward the dark distant mountains. Lwaxana walked beside her.
Deanna stopped abruptly and faced her. “What is this place?”
Lwaxana’s lips remained in a grim determined line as she replied silently, The planet Vulcan.
“Why are we here? Mother, what is this all about?”
And yet, she knew, this was not her mother; for although the mental voice possessed Lwaxana’s feel, her special parental tone, this was not her mother. The woman beside her was too calm, too controlled, too reserved.
That’s correct, little one. I am not your mother. But you must listen to me now. Do not look them in the eye, any of them. Do not let them touch you. And, above all, shelter your mind. You’re in terrible danger, and I have only a limited ability to help you.
“I don’t understand,” Deanna said irritably. “Whoever you are, you’re talking in riddles. Shelter my mind? How? From whom? Explain it to me.”
A flash of movement across the great dry plain caught Deanna’s eye, and she turned to watch, eyes widening, as a Vulcan child sprinted frantically across the desert. Behind him, narrowing the gap, an older man pursued relentlessly.
“No,” Deanna moaned. “No, it can’t be. I’m dreaming again. That’s Skel as a child. I’m dreaming his memories! I’ve got to wake up.”
The woman that looked like her mother took Deanna by the shoulders, with a grip that spoke of inhuman strength, a voice placid yet infinitely determined. This is not a dream. You must watch and learn.
The boy lost his footing in the sand and fell face-forward in the desert dust. The man reached for the boy, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him around. The boy fought valiantly as the older Vulcan clutched the child’s face in his hands.
“How terrible!” Deanna murmured, wanting to close her eyes against the scene. “He’s forcing young Skel to meld!”
The child went limp, his eyes wide, panic-stricken; Deanna’s own eyes filled with tears.
Yes, the older woman said, her voice serene despite the horrific tableau nearby. It was terrible. The violation. The infection.
Deanna watched, her confusion mounting as the elder Vulcan at last removed his hands from the child’s narrow face. The boy rose and, with Vulcan composure, brushed himself off, then began to walk home.
As he did, the adult Vulcan turned to face Deanna, his expression contorted in a grin of such pure sadistic evil that Troi gasped, recoiling. As she continued to watch, the man began to walk toward them, his pace increasing until soon he was loping across the sand.
And soon he was upon them, reaching a hand toward Lwaxana.
“Mother!” Deanna screamed, as the Vulcan caught Lwaxana’s wrist and dragged her to him.
Serene and unresisting in the face of death, the woman looked over her shoulder at Troi. Remember. This is not a dream. You must remember. Keep yourself safe.
And then the Vulcan was upon Lwaxana; he threw her to the ground and put his hands around her throat.
“Mother!” Deanna screamed, and sat bolt upright in her own bed.
Silence answered, and the reassuring sight of her own quarters. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead and drew it away to find it glistening with sweat.
Beverly had promised her she wouldn’t dream. Could she still have some residual contact with Skel? She scanned lightly, but was unable to pick his feelings out from the rest of the ship. Well, at least that made sense. If he was not close to her, she should barely sense him at all, with his Vulcan controls.
The door chimed, startling her so much that she jumped. Annoyed by her skittishness, she shook herself mentally as she grabbed a robe to cover her nightgown and hurried into her outer quarters.
“Enter,” she called, and a smiling Crusher stepped through the doors. At the sight