Possession - J.M. Dillard [95]
“We already knew that,” Worf rumbled. “How will this help us defeat them?”
Dannelke lifted the palm-size square box created with the replicators. “The forcefield modulation Data came up with should hold the little monsters—”
“If we had a way to lure them into it,” the Klingon countered irritably. “Just how do you propose to do that?”
Dannelke sighed. “We haven’t gotten that far yet …”
As if Data wanted to up the ante, he added, “We had better find a way soon. The Vulcan ship will arrive at the rendezvous point within the hour.”
Beside Troi, Worf made a noise of pure frustration; Deanna understood. The strain of ignoring the entities’ pull had worn on her. She wanted only to be free from them or, at the very least, to help Data and Dannelke discover a way.
In the periphery of her vision, a shadow stirred at the far end of the tunnel. Deanna turned, her pulse quickening …
And saw a familiar figure approach.
“Mother …” She rose—mindless of her surroundings, of the others beside her—and moved down the tunnel toward the apparition.
Lwaxana’s face was solemn, composed, and, for the moment, blessedly whole. Wearing deep aubergine robes, she approached her daughter with uncharacteristic reserve, her dark hair smoothed back into a long plait.
Will you listen to me now, little one?
Troi smiled. “Yes, please—we need your help. The entities …”
… travel through the windows of the soul.
“The eye,” Deanna said, nodding. “But Geordi—he was blind and wearing a VISOR, yet he was infected.”
Lwaxana gave a single slow nod. Through the conduit that led them to his brain.
Deanna frowned at her mother’s enigmatic expression. “His optic nerve?”
It is also the key to their destruction. That which attracts them can serve to entrap them.
“Optic nerves,” Deanna repeated, though the notion made no sense to her. The more she stared at her mother, the more convinced she became that she was in fact staring at someone else. Yet such serene goodness emanated from the image that she trusted this stranger as much as she would Lwaxana. “We can use optic nerves to trap them?”
The nerves. The trap. But most important for you to know, little one—the lure. All of these will be necessary to subdue them. For an instant, Lwaxana’s features shimmered, on the verge of metamorphosing into something alien but beautiful.
“Lure them … how can I do that, Mother?”
You already know what you must do—just as my son has known, all these years, how to defeat our tormentors. But they have kept the truth beyond his waking grasp… .
“Your son,” Troi repeated, and in that moment, understood. As she watched, the image before her transformed into a Vulcan female: young, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with an expression of infinite control yet infinite concern. “Skel. Skel is your son.”
Held beneath the entities’ control these many years. I did all I could to help him break free, but it has not yet been enough. I know all that Skel knows about them—indeed, all the data that the entities have buried deep within his unconscious. Yet without a physical form, I cannot defeat them.
“Just as we cannot defeat them without your help. Tell me,” Troi said eagerly. “Tell me what we must do.”
“Counselor … Counselor! Are you all right?”
Deanna blinked as the image of Skel’s mother faded into the more familiar visage of Worf, who gripped her arms, his bony brow furrowed with concern.
“Counselor!” he called again, and Deanna sighed, mentally releasing the image.
“I’m all right,” she said. “I just had a communication with …” She paused, scanning the worried faces of Worf, Kyla, Alexander, even Data—who, despite his bland expression, managed with body language to telegraph his concern. They might think her driven to madness by the entities’ pressure, but she drew a breath and finished her statement anyway. “Skel’s mother.”
“Skel’s mother!” Worf dropped Deanna’s arms and stepped back between Kyla and Alexander. “She has been dead eighty years!”
“Yes,” Deanna allowed. “But her katra—her disembodied consciousness, if you will—has been coexisting inside Skel’s brain with the entities