Possession - J.M. Dillard [85]
For the first time since the artifacts’ arrival on the Enterprise, Deanna Troi woke from a dreamless sleep feeling lighthearted; the terror that had so dominated her conscious and dreaming moments had blessedly ceased. She allowed herself the luxurious sensation of stretching, then propped herself up and reached for the comm badge beside the bed.
“Troi to sickbay.”
The response was reassuringly immediate, the familiar voice’s tone reassuringly calm and professional. “Sickbay. Nurse Ogawa here.”
“Alyssa! How did everything go?”
“Exactly as planned, Counselor. It turns out approximately one-fourth of the crew, including Dr. Crusher and Commander Riker, were infected. But the scans show that they’re all right now.”
Deanna mentally recoiled as she recalled the incident with Beverly, injecting her—
So that I couldn’t sense them. But Will—my God, Will spent the night here …
She shook her head gently as if to dislodge the unpleasant thought. No, Will hadn’t been possessed by the entities then; she had sensed only protectiveness and caring from him.
“So they’re all right?”
“Just fine,” Ogawa soothed, reacting to the undercurrent of fear in Troi’s tone. “Dr. Crusher is busy examining patients at the moment, and I think Commander Riker is meeting with the captain.”
“And … Skel?” For some reason, the thought of the Vulcan still troubled her. If he had been infected, why hadn’t she been able to sense it? And why had he remained so calm? According to Skel, the madness had transformed normally stoic Vulcans into homicidal killers.
“Skel’s still under quarantine.”
“Really? Why?”
“Unusual brain scans. He seems perfectly normal otherwise; it’s just a precaution. But the captain has ordered him to remain in quarantine until further notice.” Ogawa’s tone abruptly changed. “Dr. Crusher says to tell you that, physically, twenty-eight hours have passed for you, so all drugs—including the neurotransmitter blocker—have passed out of your system. She’d like for you to report to sickbay as soon as possible, so she can make sure you’re doing okay.”
Troi smiled to herself, happy at the thought that Beverly was herself once more, and concerned about Deanna. “Tell her—”
The communicator signaled again before she could finish the sentence.
“Picard here. Counselor, how are you feeling?”
Her smile widened. “Quite well, sir, thank you. And you?”
“Let’s just say I’m greatly relieved.” He paused. “Commander Riker and I are meeting in my ready room shortly to prepare a statement for the Vulcans. If you’re sure you’re feeling well, your input would be invaluable.”
“Of course, Captain. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Troi out.”
She rose and went to her closet, the sense of relief so deep she felt almost giddy. Still smiling, she slid aside the closet door, reached for a fresh uniform—
And screamed when her fingers brushed Lwaxana’s bruised, bloodied face.
They’re not gone! Oh God, child, they’re not gone! RUN!
“Will,” Picard said by way of welcome as Riker entered the ready room. Though neither smiled—the situation was far too serious for it—the captain felt a profound sense of gratitude to have his first officer on his side again. Will was a formidable friend … and would no doubt have proven a formidable enemy.
Clearly, the thought had occurred to Riker as well; his boyish, bearded face was grim, vaguely troubled. “Sir,” he replied, and, at Picard’s gesture, sat on the nearby couch. Behind his desk, Picard swiveled in his chair to face his second-in-command squarely.
“Counselor Troi will be joining us in approximately ten minutes; in the meantime, I wanted to discuss the situation with the Vulcans.”
“I take it they’re still on their way?”
Picard gave a slow deliberate nod. “They are. But during the four hours we were unconscious, the ship’s computer received a communication from them, exhorting us to keep the artifacts under strict containment—and requesting verification of the rendezvous time and coordinates. I’d like your opinion—and Counselor Troi’s—on how we should respond to them. Frankly,