Alone in the dark
The deck was cold under her bare feet as Marlena stepped out into the corridor. At least, it should have been; she was aware, theoretically, that the material absorbed the heat emitted from her skin. It registered in the scientific part of her brain that knew but didn't feel. She knew, also, that the impact of her feet on the floor created vibrations, but she heard no sound.
She moved, silent, along the empty corridors. She was alone on this part of the ship. She passed door after door, each one inscribed with a familiar symbol, somehow comforting. None opened as she passed. No sound issued from within the rooms.
She walked, alone, the ends of her sash swishing against her thigh. The corridor stretched endlessly, and she followed it as long as it continued. She cast no shadow as she stretched out her hand to open the door at the end of the hallway.
Spock's eyes were on her as the door slid open. He hung suspended by his wrists and made no sound as the curved blade pulled emerald streamers from his flesh. Pike looked bored as he twisted the knife in patterns across the Vulcan's bare skin.
The human turned to face Marlena as she stepped into the room. He wore no shirt, and his trousers were unfastened, his erection framed by the V of his open fly. He stared at her, coldly, as he jabbed the dagger into Spock's chest and twisted it. His mate made no sound.
Her fingers clenched around the cool metal grip of her phaser pistol as she raised it and aimed at Pike's heart. He did not react as she flicked the setting to kill and squeezed the trigger. Spock's eyes did not leave her face to watch his lover's body crumple.
She stepped forward to unfasten the cuffs that held him stretched from the ceiling. He did not rub his wrists where they were imprinted with jade circles from the chafing of the manacles. Instead, he took her face in his hands, gently, still with no change of expression. His skin was hot against hers, his eyes black pools of fire.
He twisted his wrists sharply. The snap of her neck sounded like a whip crack.
Marlena sat bolt upright, her mouth open in a scream to which she had not the breath to give voice. "Lights, twenty percent," she hissed. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she clenched her hands into fists and breathed deeply, slowly, in an attempt to stop the tremors that shook her whole body. She stared at the whorl of golden cloth on her bedside table, coiled like a somnolent serpent. It glistered in the low light, mesmerizing.
It wasn't until the computer alerted her that it was time to wake for her shift, seconds or minutes or hours later, that Marlena tore her gaze from the sash.
She moved, silent, along the empty corridors. She was alone on this part of the ship. She passed door after door, each one inscribed with a familiar symbol, somehow comforting. None opened as she passed. No sound issued from within the rooms.
She walked, alone, the ends of her sash swishing against her thigh. The corridor stretched endlessly, and she followed it as long as it continued. She cast no shadow as she stretched out her hand to open the door at the end of the hallway.
Spock's eyes were on her as the door slid open. He hung suspended by his wrists and made no sound as the curved blade pulled emerald streamers from his flesh. Pike looked bored as he twisted the knife in patterns across the Vulcan's bare skin.
The human turned to face Marlena as she stepped into the room. He wore no shirt, and his trousers were unfastened, his erection framed by the V of his open fly. He stared at her, coldly, as he jabbed the dagger into Spock's chest and twisted it. His mate made no sound.
Her fingers clenched around the cool metal grip of her phaser pistol as she raised it and aimed at Pike's heart. He did not react as she flicked the setting to kill and squeezed the trigger. Spock's eyes did not leave her face to watch his lover's body crumple.
She stepped forward to unfasten the cuffs that held him stretched from the ceiling. He did not rub his wrists where they were imprinted with jade circles from the chafing of the manacles. Instead, he took her face in his hands, gently, still with no change of expression. His skin was hot against hers, his eyes black pools of fire.
He twisted his wrists sharply. The snap of her neck sounded like a whip crack.
Marlena sat bolt upright, her mouth open in a scream to which she had not the breath to give voice. "Lights, twenty percent," she hissed. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she clenched her hands into fists and breathed deeply, slowly, in an attempt to stop the tremors that shook her whole body. She stared at the whorl of golden cloth on her bedside table, coiled like a somnolent serpent. It glistered in the low light, mesmerizing.
It wasn't until the computer alerted her that it was time to wake for her shift, seconds or minutes or hours later, that Marlena tore her gaze from the sash.