Possession - J.M. Dillard [84]
“You bet, sir,” La Forge said. “Just give me the chance …”
Picard studied Crusher and La Forge for an uncertain moment; they both appeared to be perfectly themselves—a gratifying sight. Even so, he turned to Data and asked softly, “You’re absolutely sure, Commander, that these people are no longer infected?”
“I monitored the dosages of the accelerator and anesthetic myself, sir. If the records from the original outbreak are correct, then we have met the conditions for the cure.”
“Very well. Release the doctor and Mr. La Forge,” Picard said with a sigh. “I want you and Geordi to get right to work.”
Data moved to a control panel on the bulkhead and fingered it briefly; there came a soft hum, then both Crusher and La Forge emerged from the chamber.
Unsmiling, still massaging her neck, Beverly moved stiffly over to the android and Picard—and the still-sheepish Klingon, who avoided her gaze. “How’s the crew? Were others infected? Anyone hurt?”
“According to my preliminary sensor scans,” Data replied, “approximately twenty-five percent of the crew was infected.”
“Twenty-five percent,” Picard whispered, repressing a shudder at the narrowly avoided tragedy, then drew himself back to the present. “As for Skel, Commander Data … I don’t like that irregular readout. Unless you can guarantee me it’s the result of a childhood trauma—”
Next to Picard, Worf growled softly, “Do not trust him, Captain. He has already caused the death of a—”
Picard silenced him with a wave.
Behind his transparent prison, the Vulcan still sat cross-legged upon his cot, as though already resigned to remain there. “If you are going to suggest that I remain in quarantine, Captain, I quite agree with your chief of security. You cannot further endanger your crew on my behalf.”
“It would be wise, sir,” Data seconded.
Picard faced the Vulcan, his sympathy for Skel warring with his fury at the entities that had been brought aboard the Enterprise. “I apologize for the inconvenience again, Skel, but frankly—I’m considering turning you over along with the artifacts to the Vulcan ship. I have a crew to worry about, and I must also consider all those attending the TechnoFair.”
Skel gave a single gracious nod, managing to utterly suppress what Picard expected was a surge of deep disappointment. “I admit that I would prefer to continue on to the TechnoFair, as I have spent a full year preparing for it … but I will yield to your judgment.”
“Speaking of the Vulcans, sir …” Data interrupted, continuing only when the captain turned and looked pointedly at him. “While everyone else was unconscious and I was busy monitoring the anesthetic procedure, the ship received an incoming message from the Vulcan ship Skal Torr. They encouraged us to keep the artifacts under strict quarantine and requested confirmation of the rendezvous time and site.”
Picard released a sigh, but before he could mentally address the issue of the Vulcans, Worf addressed him: “Sir. With your permission, I will go to security to debrief my people, after which I would like to return to my quarters to check on my son.”
As the Klingon finished speaking, Picard’s communicator signaled. “Permission granted, Mr. Worf,” the captain replied, then pressed his comm badge.
“Picard.”
“Riker here. Sir, what the hell’s going on? I just woke up on the bridge with no idea how I got here. No one else here seems to know what just happened either.”
Picard permitted himself only a fleeting second’s chill at the realization that his second-in-command had been affected. “There was an outbreak, Will—and apparently you and the bridge crew were infected.”
He could hear Riker’s sharp intake of breath. “You mean the madness from the Vulcan artifacts?”
“I’m afraid so. We were forced to anesthetize everyone and starve the entities. According to Mr. Data, one of the side effects of the cure is memory loss.”
A long pause followed; at last, Riker drew in another breath and began to reply, but Picard cut him off.
“Report to my ready room immediately, Number One. The Vulcans will be here in a matter of hours,