Possession - J.M. Dillard [97]
The doors to his quarters opened smoothly, as he checked the identifying code on his sample chip. He had at least ten of these in his—
Movement. A blur.
The blow to his chin took him completely by surprise, snapping his head back hard. The chip flew from his hand as he staggered backward, tasting blood. Bright diamond-sharp pain traveled electrically from jaw to skull to neck. He moaned with delight and agony, the feeding of the entities bringing with it a manic rush, then opened his eyes to see a blur: a body, tall and cloud-pale; a leg, with a boot speeding once more toward his face.
Dannelke.
The kick staggered him; he dropped to his knees, but the entities strengthened his body, made him absorb the power, the shock of the kick, even as they fed frantically.
Dannelke was here… . He could not miss the opportunity to possess her. “Kyla,” he whispered hungrily through broken blood-stained teeth, reaching out to touch her. “Kyla, look at me… .”
Kyla, no! Troi screamed. Use the phaser! You’ll kill him!
But Dannelke’s adrenaline level did not permit her to hear the counselor’s warning, to remember the phaser at her belt until it was too late. She whirled and delivered one last powerful kick, oblivious to Troi’s and Worf’s cries, oblivious to anything except the fear and the memory of the insidious grin on Tarmud’s face.
Kyla, look at me… .
Once more, her boot heel connected with Tarmud’s chin, but this time there came the sickening crack of bone. Tarmud dropped onto his back, utterly limp, gaze fixed now on the ceiling, bent knees sprawling outward.
Dannelke scarcely heard it; in her own mind, the shouts of her new friends merged with the screams of her mother, outside an East London flat… .
“Kyla, stop!” a deep voice thundered. She moved to kick again, to kill, but strong arms caught and held her back from her victim’s motionless form.
She gasped and came to herself in Worf’s grip. He stared sternly down at her. “Kyla, why did you not use your phaser?”
“I don’t know.” She gasped and peered beyond him at Troi, who bent beside the fallen scientist just as Data emerged from Tarmud’s laboratory bearing numerous VISORs. The android also carried a packet filled with the long strands of artificial organic optic nerves, lazily adrift in preservative fluid. Alexander, who was with him, held more of the containment vessels. “I just—be careful, Counselor! He might be feigning unconsciousness!”
Deanna shook her head somberly. “He’s dying. I think his neck is broken.”
“Do not touch him!” Data ordered sharply, and Troi recoiled instantly. The android put his burdens down and moved over to the body. “It may be possible for the entities to infect a host even after the first host dies. We can assume nothing.” He lifted Tarmud’s eyelids and peered into his eyes. “The detection modulation is working. I can see the entities’ wave patterns. They are still alive and active.”
“Data,” Deanna said, “we can’t save him ourselves. We need medical staff. But we can stabilize him, put him in stasis with the first-aid kit.”
“That will have to suffice, until a more opportune moment,” Data agreed, taking the medical tools from her. “He will die momentarily, but this device should stabilize him for at least twenty-four hours.” He attached a small rectangle to Tarmud’s head, and one to his chest. “That is the best we can do. His life signs are weak, but holding.”
“So, if we can’t complete our task in the next twenty-four hours, he’ll really die?” Kyla stared, stricken, at Tarmud’s still form.
Data stood and regathered his materials. “If we do not complete our task in the next twenty-four hours,” he told her dispassionately, “then all the Vulcans aboard the Skal Torr will be infected, and the strong likelihood will be that we, too, will