Blah blah Paramount is supreme and probably would have me before a
firing squad for this one. As the supreme D.P. would say, oh well. Feel
free to pass it around and annoy your friends, but anyone who attempts to
sell it without my express permission won't have time for a firing squad.
And now, without further ado, here's another NC-17 Fractured Fairy Tale ...
The Little Mermaid
by Nancy Brown (nancy@rat.org)
Copyright 1995
He hadn't seen her. She silently thanked whatever deity had brought
her thus far for that. Maybe she could just slip quietly away into the
crowd, board the next shuttle for anywhere, and live the rest of her life in
quiet, peaceful anonymity. Maybe she could also tap dance on the outer
hull of the space station without an EVA suit. Both options were about as
likely.
She hadn't expected him to be here. She had expected to have time to
prepare herself before seeing him again, ready herself for the changes
that time had wrought on both of them. It hadn't been much time, granted,
but to her, it could have been a lifetime. She wondered if he thought of
her half so often that she dreamed of him.
She saw him coming towards her from across the ... what did they
call this place again? Promenade? She ducked almost instinctively into
the bar, finding a table near the corner. She would be safe for the time
being, so long as he didn't look specifically in her direction.
A Ferengi waiter came to take her order. She couldn't think of
anything appropriate and pointed to another table whose occupant was
imbibing something that didn't look too terribly destructive. Disgruntled,
the waiter brought her a small glass of water and casually suggested that
the lady might like something to eat, perhaps? She shook her head in the
negative, then managed to avoid his glance for a long enough time to make
him go away.
She watched as he walked past the bar, scowling at the owner as he
went. His eyes did not even travel near her. She expelled the breath she'd
been holding, only then realizing that she had indeed been holding it in the
first place.
All at once, she felt ridiculous. Here she was, hiding in the darkest
corner of a bar, from someone she'd once considered ... Never mind what
she'd considered him to be. For the time being, he had to be avoided at all
costs, before she betrayed herself to him. If she played her cards right,
she could be happy again. If not, well, she had learned that there was
more to fear from life than merely the end of it.
She sipped her water casually, letting the cool liquid ease the
omnipresent pain in her throat. She rubbed the offending place absently.
It had been a small price to pay for her life, she'd thought at the time.
She'd met people who had neither heard nor spoken all their lives, and they
seemed to get along more than well. When she'd been told that there
would be no other way, that the sickness would consume her otherwise,
she'd been grateful for any chance at all.
Now she wondered if that too hadn't been a lie.
She'd lost so much in the past few years that she found it difficult
to remember the first loss. Her mother, she thought, and took another cold
sip. Supposedly, it had been an accident, and she being still innocent at
the time, a concept she found unbelievable now, had believed it. She had
hurt inside, but she still had her father, whose strength had always been a
force she'd been able to rely upon, the only constant in her swiftly-
changing universe that still changed too slowly for her.
One day, he had died, too. She'd been more than capable of taking
care of herself, she'd thought, and there had been others to help her. She
considered them her brothers and sisters, the friends who had changed and
shaped her life. Some had been much closer even than that. She
remembered him, as when she had first seen him in that limbo of her
memory. She could recall every detail of that first meeting, blazed as it
was across her mind, but she could not for her life remember the day or
the year, only the moment.
She had been blissfully unaware of the fact that the bad times which
she thought were finally over had only just started. Her memories were
clear, painfully so, and she pushed them away with a force that startled
her. Some crept back through her defenses, though, quietly, insistently,
telling her that they deserved recognition.
She remembered the prison, and the sickness that had spread through
it like fire among those of her kind. She had appeared immune at first,
until weeks after the contagion's start when her coughing had matched
those of the people around her.
Her jailers had saved her, taking her larynx rather than her life.
The disease had been checked, and she had been thankful to them, the ones
who kept her in the cage that had no doors. She had thought that she
would never escape, never find that other world of which she dreamed each
night, his voice in her silent ear.
Her chance had come altogether unexpectedly. She had absently
noticed the eyes of one guard following her wherever she went. She found
that if she moved her clothing in a certain manner, walked in a specific
way, he would keep watching. One night, he had watched too long and she'd
killed him. She knew that she should have felt remorseful, or at least
slightly guilty, that not feeling would make her like them, perhaps even
worse. It had not mattered at the time, for the prisoners suddenly had
weapons, and they used them well.
She'd had no hatred for the guards in particular; some in fact she
had considered her friends, in a way. But always she held the thought of
freedom with her, freedom into a new place, or perhaps an old one. She
tried to keep that in mind when the faces haunted her dreams, begging her
to explain how she could have turned on them so viciously. It had only
been the previous night that she'd been capable of answering in those same
dreams, showing them chains that she had finally broken. It had only cost
her soul to do it.
There had been a transport ship and a battle. Most of the prisoners
had been killed where they stood or had been too far away from the ship to
even think of boarding it in time. She'd escaped with one other prisoner, a
man she had come to know quite well in the past several months. They'd
had no choice but to take off. If they had stayed, the ship would have been
destroyed and they would have died with their last chance. She could still
see the faces of the other prisoners as they left them there, looking
longingly upward as the ship ascended into the cold forgiveness of space.
The one vessel that had pursued them from the prison had found itself
ablaze before clearing the atmosphere. As they soared towards freedom,
she promised to herself that she would return soon to gather the others
trapped below.
Once away from the planet, they realized what they had been denying
to themselves in the mad rush: there was no place to go. The prison world
had been in enemy territory, not deeply, but deep enough to make an escape
attempt a laughable endeavour at best. Then again, they had killed the
guards. Punishment for that was death. She hadn't felt like laughing.
The Ferengi came back to see if she wanted to order anything. When
she did not, he stayed and stared at her until she finally got up and left.
She watched the Promenade carefully for signs of him. He had probably
gone back to work. She tried to fathom what circumstances would bring
him here, when she had been certain that he would never leave his beloved
ship. She would find out. She'd become very good at finding out
information lately.
She wandered around the various kiosks, finally stopping at the
Klingon restaurant. The cook actually smiled at her as she ordered a small
slice of Rokeg blood pie. When she'd first tried the stuff a few years back,
she'd been utterly disgusted by it. Then, for some masochistic reason
she'd never been able to completely explain, she'd tried it again. It still
was not her first choice when dining out, but she had to admit, it had a
kick that she enjoyed. It also gave her a measure of strength, and not for
the first time, she wondered if that wasn't why the Klingons enjoyed it so
much.
She thought of him again. During the last months of her
confinement, only thoughts of him had kept her sane. She'd fantasized
about seeing him again, imagining all the different ways he would react.
He be surprised at first, extraordinarily so, for when they had last parted,
it had seemed to have been for good. He would probably have been slightly
angry then, first at the circumstances that had held her prisoner, then at
the people, then possibly even at her for not telling him sooner that she
was alive and free in what was marginally Federation space. His anger
would not last, she thought, for then she would tell him honestly that it
had been for him that she had escaped, how she had kept thoughts of him
close to her all this time in hopes that she might be able to tell him some
day. Then, he would smile at her, wondering how she could have done all
this for him and then perhaps he would kiss her and she would be happy.
Of course, it would be difficult to tell him now, but not impossible,
for she could simply write it down, and every day she was learning more
Federation Standard sign language. However, she would first have to
speak to him with her eyes and her hands and the rest of her body. She had
also learned much about that method of communication recently.
Aboard the stolen ship, it had been only the two of them, she and he.
They had set their course for Fed space going as fast as had been possible,
knowing that any moment could be their last. There had been a kind of
exhilaration in the thought. Death would at least bring adventure to
spirits thirsting for so much more.
As the hours had passed with no significant gain in distance, the
tension between her shoulder blades had grown to painful proportions.
He'd seen it and had offered her a backrub, which she had refused by a
violent shake of her head.
He disturbed her to no end. She knew why, and tried not to let it
show, but she had seen from the beginning that he could tell, and that
although he was used to it, it still annoyed him. She didn't want to annoy
him, but she couldn't help it. He had returned to his console and had not
said another word to her until the ship had appeared.
By some twisted luck, the ship that had seen the stolen transport
had not blown them out of existence, had in fact allowed them on board
with their lives intact. The commander of the ship had ordered them both
brought to her. She had frowned at first, then smiled brighter than a star.
They weren't going to be sent back to prison; their pluck, ingenuity and
all-out audacity made them perfect for what she had in mind.
She was very sympathetic to their plight, she'd said, and she
couldn't think of two people who would be more deserving of being set
free on the very space station to which they were quietly heading.
There was just this small matter of payment for passage.
She was practically free now. She could go to the proper authorities
and tell them everything, about the highly illegal prison camp. Someone
could no doubt be dispatched immediately to free the rest of the
prisoners, and her conscience would be practically cleared.
However, if she did that before completing her one little
assignment, her companion would die. She had thirty-nine hours.
She remembered a snatch of a song she'd heard once: "Life's full of
tough choices, idn't it?"
She hadn't been given the target's name, merely the title of someone
who had to be eliminated before the rest of the game could be played out.
She knew about sector politics, about the delicate balances among the
Klingons and the Romulans and the Cardassians and the Federation, with
the Bajorans trying to keep afloat and the growing presence of the Maquis
affecting the whole group. No one would even mention the Dominion threat
hanging over the entire quadrant. With things as they were, the strategic
death of one person could effectively shift things enough for one faction
to cripple the others considerably, if only they knew whom to strike and
when.
She knew. She had memorized the title and had been sent here to
complete the task. As soon as she found out who it was, she'd do her job.
Her disturbing companion, whom she'd finally allowed to give her that
backrub and much more when they'd been "guests" aboard the other ship,
would go free. Then she would be able to go to the one who had haunted
her nights, whose face she had seen when that other's had been tasting her
lips, and she could live.
She walked back up to the counter, and had written a question for
the Klingon cook about her assignment. Not in those words, of course.
She'd simply wanted to know who such and such an officer was, as she had
business with him or her. When he laughed and told her the one name she'd
dreaded hearing, she knew that her life had just become much more
complicated.
She walked through the Habitat ring, mindless of where she was
going. She hadn't taken quarters yet, and probably wouldn't. The less she
made notice of herself, the better. She'd paid for everything with latinum,
and had worn gloves when she'd carried it. Not even her face could quickly
betray her.
That had been another part of the little price she'd had to pay.
Minor surgery, nothing permanently damaging, the doctor had told her. When
she'd woken, she'd demanded a mirror. She regretted the demand. As far
as she was concerned, she'd been mutilated. It was purely cosmetic,
they'd said, except of course for the now-cropped long hair. She only
looked human. Her other features, while hardly out of the ordinary, would
be more easily traced back to her, and she wouldn't want that.
Now would she?
She knew where his quarters were. She'd simply asked one of the
station computers. Nothing wrong with that. She'd also asked for the
quarter locations of the station commander, first officer, and the Ferengi
bartender. Then she'd asked the location of the cargo bay. By the time all
of her inquiries were traced, she would be long gone.
She stopped outside his door, wondering what she was going to do.
She had considered a random assassination, and knew herself to be
incapable of it. Besides, the station security chief would have her before
she had a chance to turn around and run. Then she had thought about the
simple approach: go to his quarters, have him let her in, then shoot him
where he stood.
Unfortunately, she was fairly sure that instead of shooting him,
she'd run into his arms and start crying. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad
idea after all. However, it would lead to the immediate death of her
friend, and she couldn't allow that either.
She heard footsteps nearby and sank into a convenient shadow. It
was him! She nearly shouted for joy, but her breath came out in less than
a gasp as she realized that he was not alone. She saw a wave of ebony-
colored curls and a light hand resting comfortably on his arm. She froze,
sinking even deeper from the light as he opened the door, then closed it
decisively behind them.
She remained there for some time, wondering how she had managed
to not be caught by the charming companion of the man she had lived for if
only in her dreams. Then again, the couple obviously had other things in
mind than catching potential murderers lurking in hallways.
She waited, then approached the door. It wouldn't be difficult
to slip in and do her job, she thought. Carefully glancing around, lest
she be discovered, she pressed her ear to the door, and was rewarded by the
sounds of two people grappling towards unity of body and spirit, crying
one another's names to darkness. There was no way they would notice her
entrance.
The doors aboard the Cardassian-built station had been constructed
by the heartbreaking labor of Bajoran nationals. In a small form of
retribution, they had spread among them ways of getting past the security
systems, little flaws built in specifically for a time when they might
come in handy. Ironically, she had learned a few of these tricks from the
woman who had sent her, in case they might aid her in her task.
With a flick of her wrist, the control panel cover was gone. A touch
here, a press there, and the door slid open as quietly as though it had been
in vacuum. She replaced the cover, and shut the door with an equal silence
from the other side.
The room was dark and spare. She recognized some of the artifacts,
but others left her mystified. She had not come to browse anyway. She
had come to kill, although she still hadn't decided who would die.
Muffled sounds came from the direction of what she assumed was
the bedroom. She tiptoed to the edge of the open door, and peeked inside.
The woman sat on the edge of the bed, her legs spread wide. No
doubt this helped facilitate the head that was between them, doing
delightful things. Her hair lay off of her sweat-slick shoulders, and hung
in damp ringlets down her back. Her eyes were closed, and her breath
came in sharp cries. Her slender arms were at his broad, firm shoulders,
holding his own long beautiful hair in tight fists.
She could see very little from her vantage point until he pushed his
lover back onto the bed. Then she caught a brief glance of darker, curlier
hair just barely hiding glistening rosy folds. Then two large hands, strong
hands she had wanted to do these same things to her, opened the fragile
place. Unable to move, she watched longingly as he slid one perfect finger
inside the woman, followed by two more, eliciting a cry with each. The
thumb of his other hand began to firmly manipulate her wet nub in time
with the movement of his fingers. She began to whimper, in either
pleasure or pain.
He removed both hands from her suddenly. Certain that he had
somehow realized her presence, she pulled away from the doorway, her
pulse racing from more than one form of excitement. For a few brief
moments, she had been able to feel his hands on and inside of her.
When he didn't come charging out of the room after her, she went
back to the door, not wanting to watch but at the same time, mesmerized
beyond capacity for rational thought.
He was the one on his back now. She straddled his chest, his large
erection sticking up almost absurdly behind her. Her face was at his neck,
nibbling and biting, as his hands stroked her sides with a less than gentle
caress. Then, as if at some prearranged signal, he lifted her and pulled her
down upon him hard. She shrieked, and for a moment, the other two in the
room thought she'd been hurt. Then he smiled, seeing some pleased look or
another on her face. She'd been closer to the edge than he'd thought,
obviously. She was not finished yet, however. She began moving around
him in slow circles, his hands guiding her movement. They began to move
faster, and she felt her own breath speed up in sympathy with the motion.
His fingers pressed deeply into her sides now, forming red marks
that would no doubt be bruises by morning. She didn't seem to mind, as her
knees began pulling her up off of him, only to return quickly lest she lose
him completely from inside of her.
Suddenly, she stopped all movement. The lovers locked gazes, and
she could see the suddenly tightened muscles outside reflect the quickly
pulling inside of the one upon the other. He threw his head back and
howled as though he had been struck a mortal blow. Moments later, the
woman joined him, her cry of bliss mixing with his in a weird and ancient
song. They collapsed onto one another, and in less than three minutes, she
heard the sounds of slumbering.
Now was the time. She could kill him now and perhaps even the
woman beside him, and she would be free to go back to her life, save her
friends, and save the life of the man who had brought her to a similar
state of dizzy pleasure only the night before. If she could just pick up one
of the blades displayed around the outer room, she could plunge it into his
heart before he awoke. She knew Klingon weapons. It would not be
difficult. She could find that happiness she had been denied for so long, if
only she could kill the one person who had kept her soul alive when the
rest of her had died.
She crept silently back into the outer room and quickly found what
she needed. Quickly, she did what needed to be done and was out of the
room with the same quiet that would mark her wherever she went. With a
lingering look of regret, she brushed her fingers against the closed outer
door to his quarters, then turned down the corridor with her only
companions the silent tears that would never leave her alone.
With the information left on his terminal, Worf freed Tom Riker
from the ship where he was being held prisoner, but by that point, Sito
had vanished from the station like sea foam along a deserted beach.
The End
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