Possession - J.M. Dillard [72]
“Something’s happened,” Deanna said. “What is it?”
Data paused, looking at the doctor. Beverly briefly explained what had occurred in Ten Forward, and about the death of Ensign Evans.
“And I slept through all that violence?” Deanna said, aghast.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Beverly soothed. “The sedative I gave you was supposed to block out your empathic reception. You needed the rest. We couldn’t know what was going to happen.”
All the more reason to remain undrugged now, Deanna decided.
“Counselor,” Data said in a kindly manner, “if you are not well enough to attend the meeting, I will explain it to the captain.”
“No, Data, thank you. I’ll just need a moment to dress.” She half turned toward her bedroom when something cool touched her neck and hissed: Crusher’s hypospray.
She whirled, furious, hand to the violated spot on her neck. “Beverly! How could you?”
Crusher’s expression was one of sincerest apology and sympathy, her tone one of consummate reasonableness. “Deanna, forgive me, but your reluctance to be medicated is part of your condition. The more depleted your neurotransmitter, the more tense and paranoid you’ll become. It’s normal for patients in your condition to refuse even life-saving help. As your doctor, I had to do what I believe is best, and what I believe you would want me to do were you feeling normal. Before you vent your anger, take a moment to evaluate your current condition. Tell me how you really feel.”
The Betazoid rubbed her neck where the drug entered her bloodstream and considered her friend’s words. The truth was—she felt better. Her apprehension was gone. She didn’t feel high or woozy, just more like herself. Automatically, she tried to probe Crusher’s feelings, but there was little there. She could sense something familiar, something that was Beverly, but her empathy was profoundly muted. And for some reason she found that fact oddly comforting. Her troubled mind was suddenly quieted, able to spend the time healing itself.
Reluctantly, Deanna said, “Actually, I do feel better. I feel calmer, more at ease with myself. And as you predicted, my empathic sense is strongly curbed. Normally, that would upset me, make me feel nonfunctional, but right now I’m happier this way. You were right, Beverly.” She smiled wanly. “I guess that’s why you’re the doctor and I’m the counselor.”
Data kept looking from one woman to the other, clearly confused. “Counselor, are you well enough to come to the captain’s meeting?”
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “I’ll be there, Commander.”
“Would you like someone to wait for you while you change, Deanna?” Beverly offered.
“That’s a good idea,” Deanna said, then surprised the doctor by adding, “Data, would you mind?”
“Of course not, Counselor,” the android replied.
Beverly nodded at the two of them. “That’s better for me, actually,” she said brightly, “since I need to have my autopsy report ready for the captain. See you later.” But as she left, Deanna got the faintest sense of conflicting emotions in her friend, emotions she could not actually understand.
“Is everything all right with you and Dr. Crusher, Counselor?” Data asked quietly.
Deanna turned to him. His insight into human behavior patterns improved every day. She was not surprised that he noticed the tension between the two women.
“Everything’s fine, Data,” she insisted, with a forced smile. “Beverly and I are just having a small disagreement about a course of treatment. And, besides, after all the mental input I had to deal with yesterday, I thought it would be pleasant to spend some time with a strong silent type for a change.” She patted his arm and went to change her clothes, leaving him in the living room with a very perplexed, human expression.
Chapter Eight
PICARD SAT IN HIS READY ROOM, mulling over Barbara Evans’s autopsy results, along with Dr. Crusher’s report regarding the other forensic material found