The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [37]
“Looks to me as though something scared ‘em to death,” he said.
“Dreams?” asked Nurse Johnson faintly. Despite her dark coloring, she appeared pale.
The survivor, when they found him, was a man in his late fifties, curled up into a fetal ball so tight that it seemed impossible for bone and muscle to compress that much. Selar and Johnson bundled him onto the stretcher, then took him back to the transport point.
Within the next forty-five minutes, they located and rescued another five survivors. The other teams reported similar successes, save for one crewman who turned violent as they were putting him on the antigravity stretcher, gibbering and shrieking so loudly that Selar’s sensitive ears picked up the sound a deck away. The man then expired on the spot, despite all of Doctor Grunewalt’s resuscitation efforts.
As they loaded up the last survivor in their assigned area, Selar’s communicator beeped. She tapped it. “Selar here.”
“Logan here!” came a breathless voice. “It’s Nurse Itoh! She attacked Lieutenant Worf, screaming that he was a dirty Klingon spy, and then, when I tried to help him, she attacked me! Together we managed to wrestle her down, but when I turned to get a tranquilizer from my bag, she literally threw the lieutenant off her and escaped! I never saw such strength!”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know! She disappeared in the direction of the galley, but that leads into a main corridor, so she could be anywhere by now!”
“Please calm yourself, Doctor. Where is Lieutenant Worf?”
Logan drew a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was steadier. “He is with me.”
“Lieutenant?” Selar said.
“Here, Doctor,” came the bass rumble.
“Have Doctor Logan transport back, then rendezvous with my party immediately. We are in the crew quarters on Deck A. We will head directly for the transport coordinates from here.”
“Understood. Worf out.”
Selar gestured to Nurse Johnson and Caledon to guide the antigravity stretcher and headed back up the corridor. Even though she was alert, every sense attuned to pick up another presence, she had no warning. One moment she was walking cautiously around a bend in the hall, the next a piercing scream blasted her ears, and a kicking, clawing, berserk fury was atop her, teeth snapping at her nose.
Selar stiff-armed Itoh, managing to hold the woman away from her face, but just barely. The madwoman’s insane strength was, as Doctor Logan had reported, unbelievable. A hand raked the Vulcan’s face, fingernails scoring grooves in her cheek. The flare of pain gave Selar the impetus to throw the woman off, away from her. The nurse scrambled to get up, and Selar plunged forward, still on all fours, crashing headlong against the nurse’s knees and sending her flying again.
The blow stunned the human woman for a precious second as Selar clawed her way up Itoh’s body; a heartbeat later, the Vulcan’s fingers found the nerve between her neck and her shoulder. The nurse sagged, unconscious.
Breathing hard, Selar rolled off the limp body and sat up, her face smarting. Tentatively she put fingers to her cheek, and they came away smeared green. Selar summoned her inward vision to assess her injuries and was relieved to find nothing more than the scratches and bruises.
Nurse Johnson and Caledon were staring at her, frozen with shock, still holding the straps of the antigravity stretcher. “We’d better put her on it, too,” Selar said, climbing to her feet wearily, bracing her knees so they would hold her. “We must hurry. Lieutenant Worf will be wondering where we are.”
As she stared down