Trigger warning: insinuated violation/rape/violence in this chapter.
Hours into the negotiations, the attack came, surprising both the humans and the Trium. The doors opened unexpectedly and phaser rifle fire coursed through the room, almost immediately incapacitating the two Trium negotiators. Spattered in grey-blue fluids, Picard threw himself over Beverly, trying to protect her from the shots, when a beam seared across his right shoulder. He fell to the ground in agony, and then a vicious kick from an invading Trium shoved him to the side of the room. He watched helplessly as another two grabbed Beverly, hauling her up onto her feet as she scrabbled to hold on to something, anything, to avoid being taken. One pressed what looked to be a hypo against her neck, she went limp, and they transported her away in a green shimmer, leaving him alone amid the bodies of the Trium negotiators, retching, lying on his side on the cold stone floor beside the overturned table.
She sat in a chair, wrists bound in a metal device that administered a shock when she struggled or moved more than necessary. The room was empty save a metallic bed and a cabinet against the wall. She tried not to think about what could be in the cabinet. She estimated she had been in here alone for nearly an hour. She had returned to consciousness already bound; there was no way to tell how long she had been unaware of her surroundings.
The door slid open and four Trium entered. They were unfamiliar, but they wore white robes – no, medical smocks. She swallowed, tried to maintain an impassive expression on her face. Medical smocks were not a good sign. She wasn't afraid of dying, but she wasn't too keen on speeding up the process, or on getting there in a creative way, orchestrated by four unknown Trium.
The shortest Trium came and knelt down beside her so that they were nearly eye level with each other. Female, Beverly thought.
"We need what is in your mind." Her voice was a sibilant hiss; Crusher couldn't tell if it was intended to be alarming or simply the creature's natural register. In any case, she remained silent.
Another quiet hiss, then, "You wrote this." It was a statement, not a question, and the text from her Kes Prytt report appeared in the air in front of her. Oh no.
"I did," she quietly replied. No sense in lying at this point. Better to see what they wanted from her.
"We need you to show us how to use this information to create a weapon." The creature's voice was surprisingly soft, coaxing. And there was a flicker of something in Crusher's mind. She stiffened.
Show us how to use your research for our own needs. The voice was inside her mind. And it was like the Trium's talon was inside her mind, too, peeling away her meager little defenses, digging, stabbing, and it wasn't graceful at all, it was intrusive, and the edge of pain, like a scrape that was almost a stab and Beverly lost the ability to breathe because it was so foreign, like a smell that had no parallel in her experience or a color that was more of a texture than a shade-
And then it turned into a sliding stab that caused her body to stiffen in the chair, and the cuffs on her wrists shocked her in protest but she barely noticed because she needed this creature out out out out of her mind out no no no no horrifying no-
- her mind translated the violation into a physical sensation, being touched, penetrated, and the invading force picked up on that and it was as though the talons were cupping her intimately-
The Trium sat back, disengaged, rocked back on her heels and watched impassively as Crusher attempted to suck in a breath and avoid vomiting the contents of her stomach all over herself. She vaguely wondered if this was what a Borg invasion felt like, and she felt utterly hopeless.
"Please don't," she whispered, because she had to say something, anything, even though she knew it wouldn't matter. But as one entity the three other Trium moved forward, lifted her from the chair and swiftly laid her on the metal bed. They didn't restrain her and Crusher thought for a moment about trying to run but before she could run they all pressed their palms against her, on her arms and legs, holding her down, and the female leaned over and pressed both palms against her face, looking down at her.
"Show me how to create a biological weapon."
"Please don't," Crusher repeated in a whisper.
"Show me," and there was a cool stroke against her mind, almost a lovingly sexual caress. Then the cool stroke turned into an icy hot stab that turned into four stabs that were scooping into her mind like it was sand, the talons seeking knowledge, sifting for the information they needed and she felt her identity being pushed away, losing what it meant to have a mind of her own and the ability to direct her own thoughts, and distantly Crusher began to hope for death so that the violation, the pain would end before she fragmented into a million pieces.
Picard stood in a conference room on the medical deck, listening to York give direction to the security teams. "She has to be on the planet somewhere. They don't have the technology to transport her off planet. Find the dead spots and invade. As soon as you find her, we're leaving. There's more to this negotiation than what's on the surface, and there has to be a reason why they took her and not Picard. Dismissed."
The security officers left and Picard faced York with a slight wince. Wilson had repaired the burn on his shoulder, but the skin and muscles were still tender. But what was worse was the horror he felt - Beverly was gone. The Trium had taken her.
"We'll find her." York's voice broke through his deliberations. He nodded slowly.
"And we'll figure out why they wanted her."