Possession - J.M. Dillard [80]
The sensation only served to infuriate him further. He roared a Klingon war cry; Crusher echoed it just as fiercely. The shouts faded into the small soft sound of a hiss… .
Abruptly, the swirling sparks in her eyes dimmed, then disappeared beneath pale lids; Crusher sagged in his arms. He looked up to see Ogawa, hypospray in hand.
Gasping for air, he rose, lifting the unconscious woman in his arms, and carried her tenderly to a nearby diagnostic bed.
“Lieutenant Worf,” Picard whispered, and the Klingon looked up to see the captain and Ogawa watching him warily. Ogawa recoiled physically from him, clearly afraid.
“Yes, Captain.”
Picard’s expression was grim. “I believe Dr. Crusher has infected you.”
Worf blinked, and took inventory of his faculties. He remembered now—remembered the eye contact, her touching his face, and the shock. He saw the nurse staring at a scanner, as if that could possibly help. Picard had already explained to them that there was currently no way to determine if someone was infected or not. “Captain, I know I was exposed, I did feel a shock, but I feel completely normal. You cannot mean to incarcerate me in quarantine when the ship is in danger?” The very thought humiliated the warrior.
“That wouldn’t be my first choice,” Picard admitted, glancing at Ogawa as if reaching for a confirmation he knew she could not give him.
The nurse raised her dark eyebrows. “Well, sir, his readouts are normal—for a Klingon in battle rage!”
“Could he be immune?” Picard wondered.
“Ask him,” Worf said, indicating Skel. It did not surprise the Klingon to see the Vulcan watching emotionlessly all that had transpired. “It is a subject he speculated on as we traveled here.”
Picard lifted a skeptical eyebrow, but said nothing; clearly, he did not trust Skel enough to ask him anything. Instead, he turned to the Klingon. “She was sabotaging the shutdown,” he said, with a nod at Crusher’s unconscious form. “She was programming for the four-hour sleep, but there would have been no accelerator added. The entities would’ve survived if she’d succeeded.”
“Captain, how did you know?” Worf wondered aloud. Picard’s deduction seemed nothing less than mystical to him.
The captain’s expression grew decidedly sheepish. “I hesitate to say, Lieutenant, lest you think I’ve been victimized by these entities myself.” He glanced back toward Skel’s quarantine unit, then said softly, “It happened while we were standing near him, when you began asking me about your assignment. All of a sudden, I heard my mother saying, ‘Never trust doctors!’ “
Worf couldn’t hide his surprise and concern over the captain’s mental state.
Picard nodded, as if understanding. “I know, it sounds quite insane. But that was one of her favorite bromides when she was asked how she achieved her long life. ‘Never trust doctors!’ I heard it as clearly as if she were standing beside me, in her crisp, perfect French, with her precise inflection, her acerbic wit. I tried to ignore it, fearing I might be hallucinating, but she kept repeating it, once, twice, three times—then suddenly she said in crystal clear Vulcan:’Jean-Luc, don’t trust your doctor!’ I was overwhelmed with the need—the compulsion—to check Dr. Crusher’s work.”
“Klingons have many legends about great warriors hearing those who have gone on before them while in the heat of battle, but—”
“If you knew my mother, Mr. Worf, you’d know she well qualifies there.” Any trace of good humor vanished at once as Picard gazed down at his chief medical officer. “There can be no doubt anymore: We have an infection aboard this ship.” He lifted his face, scowling. “Where the hell is Data? He’s the only one we can trust now to manage this shipwide shutdown.”
“Geordi,” Data said patiently, “I fail to understand your reluctance to test out a possible containment field for the entities. Since we know that the artifacts’ forcefield cycles like a subspace sensor grid, we should be able to construct a receptacle that will secure the entities safely.