Possession - J.M. Dillard [79]
“Captain, will I be stationed here during the shipwide shutdown?” Worf asked privately. He would prefer to be with his son, but knew that was unlikely.
Picard looked up as if about to answer him, then hesitated. Suddenly, frowning, the captain turned instead to stare at the Vulcan, who was still unpacking in the quarantine unit, oblivious to Picard’s attention. The captain gave his head an odd little shake, then turned back to Worf.
“Mr. Worf, did you hear that.?”
“Hear what, sir?” The security chief had a sudden flash of concern—could the captain be infected? His body tensed, preparing for conflict.
But Picard’s expression was merely apologetic. “Excuse me, Mr. Worf; I was distracted. You were asking about your station during the shutdown. I think it would be a good idea if you would remain here in sickbay when …”
He trailed off, turning again to stare in disbelief at Skel. This time the Vulcan paused and looked up to return the captain’s gaze blankly; clearly, something passed between the two men.
Worf grew seriously concerned now. “Captain Picard, what is it? Are you well?” He opened his mouth to call Dr. Crusher, who still stood with her back to them, completely unaware of Picard and Skel’s scrutiny as she worked at her console.
But before the Klingon could react, Picard uttered a phrase in Vulcan, then spun about, seized Crusher by the shoulders, and threw her from the console.
“Mr. Worf! Help me stop her!”
Worf crouched, ready for battle—but hesitated: Should he subdue Dr. Crusher … or the captain, whose sudden behavior seemed irrational?
He paused no more than a heartbeat, enough time for Crusher to spin on the balls of her feet and slam Picard to the deck with a single brutal blow to the side of his head. And then—easily, dispassionately—she returned to her work as though the act of knocking down her captain was a small thing.
“Stop her, Worf!” Picard ordered groggily as he rolled to his knees. “She’s infected—that’s not Beverly! Stop her before she initiates the programming!”
With a roar, the Klingon grabbed Crusher’s shoulders and pulled her from the console. Serpentine, she wriggled in his grasp and spun about, at the same time—impossibly—breaking free from him. She drew back a long leg and aimed a high kick at Worf’s head; he caught her heel and yanked her body up, forward.
She fell on her back, hard enough to have knocked the wind from the real Crusher’s lungs, yet she never paused. Still flat on the deck, she planted her other foot in the Klingon’s sternum and flipped him over her head easily.
He rolled and came up on his feet, but she was already up and struck his face: once, twice, three times, with inhuman strength and a preternatural speed that left him no time to block the blows. He roared with pain and rage.
He tackled her once more, knocking her small, delicately human body to the deck. With peripheral awareness, he heard Picard calling for Data, shouting orders, demanding a sedative for Crusher while Ogawa scrambled to comply.
Success: Worf managed to pin her to the ground. She wrestled wildly, viciously, so determined that he had difficulty holding her down—but he could not bring himself to strike her. No matter what was happening to her mind, the body was still Crusher’s and would have to be functional when she was cured. He feared inflicting serious damage—damage that might remain after the entities had gone.
She, however, had no such qualms.
She buried her elbow in his gut; he grunted, handling the blow he had anticipated, grimacing at the pain in his shins as she pounded against them with her heel.
And then she wriggled in his arms, twisting so that they were face-to-face. The sudden encounter startled him, and she used his disorientation to pull an arm free and pull his face toward hers.
“Don’t look in her eyes! Mr. Worf—don’t look!”
In the rage of battle, Worf scarcely registered the captain’s shouts; his gaze met hers full on.
“Mr. Worf—!”
Brightness in her eyes: shooting sparks, like the colored embers from a raging fire.