The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [72]
The bleak landscape of his own private purgatory lightened, brightened, as he emerged back into the conscious world. His full reasoning ability returned to him, along with the sense of his own body, and all his knowledge.
He was whole again … healed.
Will Riker opened his eyes to see three faces staring anxiously down at him. Deanna Troi, Jean-Luc Picard, and Beverly Crusher. Deanna was holding his hand in a grip so tight it hurt—but he did not want her to let go, he needed the human comfort of her grasp. Will ran his tongue around a mouth that felt as dry as the sands of Velara Three.
“Hello,” he whispered. He was confused. Hadn’t he been going to beam out with the away team? How had he gotten here—wherever here was? “Where am I?”
“He’s back!” Crusher said, sounding extremely relieved. “Deanna, you did it! Now it’s back to bed for you …”
Two of the faces disappeared. Riker felt Troi’s fingers unclasp. Feeling bereft, he tried to turn his head to follow their retreating figures with his eyes, but he was so stiff and sore, his neck would barely move.
But immediately another hand closed on his forearm in a tight, welcoming squeeze. “Will,” Picard said warmly, a relieved smile lighting the captain’s tense features. “Welcome back!”
Riker struggled to form words, and finally managed, “It’s good to be back. Wherever that is.” The last thing he remembered was passing out aboard the artifact. He rolled his eyes from side to side, and saw familiar surroundings. I’m in sickbay, he realized.
“You’re in sickbay,” Crusher said as her face appeared again. “Back aboard the Enterprise.”
“Where’s Deanna?”
“I had to sedate her again,” Crusher said. “Staying awake was too stressful for her.”
“Can I sit up?” Riker asked, pushing gently at the diagnostic and treatment console that covered his torso. “And could I have something to drink?”
“Yes, you can sit up, as long as you take it easy,” she replied, moving the unit off him. Picard helped him as he made the effort, and, moments later, he was sitting up on the couch and sipping gratefully at cool water.
“I hardly remember a thing,” he confessed. “Except that I was somewhere … safe, and that I didn’t want to come out …”
Memory expanded, and Will twisted around, looked over his shoulder, and saw the occupant of the next couch, now fast asleep. She appeared much as he’d seen her before the away team mission—except that now there seemed to be a faint smile on her lips.
“Deanna!” Riker exclaimed as memory surged back. “It was her voice, her mind, calling me back!”
“Yes.” The doctor nodded. “She came out of her own withdrawal long enough to contact you, then I had to sedate her again. But she saved you, Will. When she wakes up, you owe her a sizable thank you.”
“Dinner at the best restaurant at the next starbase we dock at,” Will agreed fervently. “And two dozen red roses.” He thought for a moment. “Make that three dozen, and a box of her favorite chocolates.”
Beverly Crusher smiled. “I’d say that’s a start.”
Picard sat in Crusher’s small office, gazing around him at the resurrected away team. All of them were there, except for Worf, who was still asleep. The captain was only too happy to let him sleep off the artifact’s effects—a Klingon in a battle rage was not something he wanted crashing around his ship. He now had a good idea of why the crew aboard the PaKathen had not survived long.
Will Riker still appeared pale beneath his beard, but his eyes had regained most of their usual twinkle. Geordi La Forge’s features beneath the VISOR appeared rather haggard, but his grin was back. Data sat with his strange eyes fixed on a point somewhere over the captain’s shoulder, as-though he were ruminating about something intensely personal. Gavar seemed in the worst shape, perhaps not surprisingly. The Tellarite physician’s features were hard to read, but her pose was one of near exhaustion, as she sat leaning her elbows heavily