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"Destiny"
By Asso Rating: NC-17 for violence. Potentially disturbing subject matter. Author's Notes: And three! Notes: "Destiny", like my last story "Honeymoon", is a story that can be read without knowledge of my first story, "Ulysses". However, in my head, these three fics are connected. "Destiny" comes before “Honeymoon,” which comes before “Ulysses.” – Well, it seems I am going backwards, like the prawns! The words in italic between (*___*) represent the thoughts and, believe me, there's a great deal of thoughts, here! Thanks: To justTrip’n for helping me express myself in a language that is not my first language. I take full responsibility for the thematic content. I have borrowed an idea from Elaine in her magnificent story: "Shadows"
… amongst the reddish clouds, dark birds that fly as flocks. Like sort of errant thoughts wandering in the dusk. Giosué Carducci – “San Martino” Personal Free Adaptation
(*Once again . . . just once . . . one moment . . . only one second . . . I pray to you, God . . . I pray . . . let me look at those eyes . . . those marvellous, chocolate eyes . . . just one last time. Then I will die . . . really, God . . I promise . . . I will die . . .*)
(*Come on! Hurry up! Hurry up! He can’t hold out forever. He will resist until . . . Those ruthless, bastards! My friend is strong, I know . . . but I’ve known torture*). I cannot sit still. The Captain’s chair has become a chair of thorns. I cannot stand still. (*Perhaps he’s already... NO! He’s not . . . And besides, if he were dead, she would not be so . . . together *). I look at her, by stealth. She seems quiet and composed, but the color of her skin is grey. She is sweating. She is melting into grief and fear. I can see it plainly. We are speeding towards the commander . . . my friend . . . and her man, who may be on the brink of death. This time, she could not withstand the blow. Unlike last time, she no longer strives to be as they say a Vulcan must be. That time has passed. There has been Elizabeth; there has been a great deal of things. She seems intent on her work, but she does not look at the screen, and her hands remain motionless on her console. I know she is seeking him through that bond they share. She feels what he is feeling. And she experiences fear. Why? Why, damn it!?! What is she feeling? What is so terrifying? I know what this bond is, even if I’ve never experienced it. When Surak’s katra was inside me, I learned a lot. And the doctor informed me that this bond is deep, probably because of their companionship and shared grief. He also warned that because of the strength of the bond between this couple, the loss of one could result in the loss or madness of the other. I cannot lose my friend, and I cannot allow his loss to destroy her! This cannot be their destiny! (*Come on, damn it! Hurry up! *).
(*Once again . . . I pray to you, God . . . just once . . . I pray . . . please, just one more time . . . . . . that cute little nose always crinkles at my smell . . . Oh God! if she would just walk through that door . . . I don’t care anymore how she finds me. I will die . . . I swear it, God . . . I will die . . .*) (*I will kill them. All those bloody Terra Primers. One by one. Scientifically. Methodically. I will unearth them. One at a time. And woe to Harris if doesn’t give me all the information I need! *) I sneer with bitterness. My British self-control is severely tested. It is my friend we are trying to rescue from the hands of those who swore his death. A fellow with whom I’ve shared adventures and misfortunes. I grin again, recalling how he broke through my shields with that blasted enthusiasm. He is my confidant, and I am his. I know the torments of his love life. Their path wasn’t easy—it was filled will obstacles, incomprehension, sorrow; but I am aware of the happiness they finally . . . rightfully . . . found. I glance at her. I don't know if she knows I know. But I know those people . . . I know. The files found on Masaro's database speak frankly. Trip has been targeted. And now his death has been decided, like the damn message was telling us, not only because he . . . and she . . . symbolize what they fear and hate, but also because he thwarted Paxton’s crazy plan. Just like he prevented the war between Vulcans and Andorians. And destroyed the spheres, together with her. The Captain and I destroyed the weapon, saving Earth. While, they saved alien planets and races. They saved a possible and coming universe, where all the races might live with mutual trust. He and she, together, mean all that. Again I glance at her. A perfect Vulcan . . . in the eyes of the others, but certainly not in mine. I, and maybe the captain, . . . have come to understand her. She is one of us, one of the family. She is overwhelmed, she is suffering! I see it! I see it! Those damn bastards are causing her sorrow and suffering! I will not tolerate it! Destiny cannot tease these two with such an ugly trick! I will not allow it. (*If you bastards touch one hair of his head, if… you renew her grief, I will not limit myself to killing you! You will be tormented! One by one. Scientifically. Methodically. One after the other! I swear! *) (* . . .Those beautiful pointed ears . . . I want to stroke the tips of those ears. Oh God . . . just once . . . just once again . . . I pray to you, I beg you . . .one tender caress . . . the last . . . Then I will die, Oh God . . . really, I mean it . . . I will die . . .*) (*I hate these . . . . I can’t call them people. No, not humans, but animals! Disgusting animals! Tsis yog! Yog ntauj suab sub! Why would you want to destroy one of the most beautiful individuals I have ever met! And their love---a clear love, without boundaries, a love marked by destiny! A love that give us hope for a better universe! A better future! I hate you! I loathe you! And you will be defeated!*) I look at her, openly, without furtive looks. How she is suffering! I see it! She seems even smaller. I need no words. I know. I know for long a time, before the beginning of the neuropressure’s rumours. The looks, the half words, the gestures, the attitudes, the arguing, the movies-nights, the pop-corn, the hands seeking each other in the dark . . . and Elizabeth. I am a woman. I am capable of recognize a woman in love . . . and she is a woman in love, desperately in love, with the best man of the bunch. Yes, he is the heart and soul of our crew. The Captain guides the way, but he is the engine, with an energy that shines so intensely it knocks even a Vulcan woman off her feet . . . And perhaps he is dying! Alone, with his pain! Those infamous animals are killing our heart! The message his kidnappers sent, was terribly clear: "This is for you, Enterprise. We know you are listening, friends of Aliens and traitors of the Humanity! We showed our power. We have in our hands the living symbol of all we despise. Come and get him. He is waiting for you and for his Vulcan whore . . . We will begin the execution, but if you hurry you may find him yet alive. In any case, his death will not be quick, and it will not be easy. The moment we picked up that message, we began our desperate race to the source of the transmission, a desolate and lonely region on a distant planet, outside every well-known route. I am still looking at her (* . . . his Vulcan whore . . .*). Oh my Lord! These rotten animals are aware of their love and . . . these . . . these beasts want her to suffer too. They want his bondmate to be conscious of the tortures they inflict upon him! Those animals’ gloomy minds are guided by filthy vengeance. She feels my gaze and turns her head, looking at me. Those eyes... those eyes are dead! My God! She stares at me, with that look. “Help him!... Help me!” her eyes are silently yelling! Yes. I am here, I silently answer. I will help you, I will be near you. Woman with woman. I will soothe your sorrow . . . and if you . . . and I . . . will lose him, you will share your despair with me and, perhaps, together we will able to bear it! Perhaps, together, we will manage to face his destiny! (*But, no! You beasts will be defeated! You, dirty animals, you . . . filthy . . . worms, you will be defeated! If the weapons and the men will not manage to destroy you, my hate will do it! *) (*Those eyebrows . . . so thin and delicate . . . I adore those eyebrows . . .The way she raises one of those delightful eyebrows, wanting silently to scold me . . . One last silent reproach, my God . . . only one reproach . . . And then I will die, my God . . . I will die, I will die... *) (*Ungh! How I would like to be a swifter helmsman! *) I feel Captain's trepidation and the expectations of my colleagues. They look at me, like I might be able to fantastically increase the speed of this ship. But I can't, damn it, I can't! The engines are screeching! I am sweating to hold the ship on course! Because we must arrive soon, before the Commander. . . (*No, Travis, don’t even go there.*) What will we do, . . . if he dies? And she? What will she do? They all think I am blinded to it, too young to understand. But I am not. I remember her face when I found her, holding the baby. I remember her struggling against tears as she realized the baby was dying. I remember them grasping each other hands, near that little coffin. And I was happy everybody realized they had sealed their path; happy that they might finally live their story openly, with delight. Instead, these haters want to destroy them! No. We cannot allow that. Faster, Enterprise! I may destroy you, but we have to arrive much sooner than this! His life is at stake and… and… also her well-being… maybe her sanity. . . Their destiny is at stake, perhaps ours as well. And the Human and Vulcan destiny! (*Oh my God! A swifter ship, a swifter ship! *) (* . . . Her face . . .Oh, my God, her face . . . her beautiful . . . sweet . . . gorgeous face. They say it is deadpan, motionless . . . But how many expressions, how many emotions that marvellous face can show, . . . that only I can read . . . and some are ONLY for me! Oh, my God . . . let me see that face . . . once again . . . just once . . . one moment, my God . . .only once . . .
Then I will die . . . I swear it, God . . . I swear on grandma’s grave . . . I will die . . . *) (*Stay strong, Chief, stay strong and firm! We’ve almost arrived! Your engines are roaring with power, blazing with rage—all for you! A short time, a very short time and we will be there! *) I look around. Engineering is an indescribable mess of frenetic and orderly work. Some adjust settings, some look into the screens, crewman go up down the ladders, . . . and no one is speaking. Everyone knows what must be done. The only noise is the deafening rumble of the engines, pushed beyond the limit. But they, too, will stand up to the pressure, because they, too, know what must be done. (*Quickly, quickly! Without mistakes! Everything depends on us! Let engines explode, and we too; but we must rescue him! *) (*…Him…*). It seems to me that I can see him, chaotic and exact; firm, wherever placed; indefatigable; smiling; suddenly beside whoever needed help . . . with their work or other things. Always upbeat. Unless she did not visit him—always with some pretext, by hook or crook invented. It was an amusing sight, when they first began to argue. As funny as it was . . . premonitory. A smart, regal Vulcan woman, not looking at anyone straight in the face, pretending to need something from our Chief. And you could tell whenever she watched him she was blushing, as much as a Vulcan can do that. How I would love to be that woman! We were stifling our giggles as he would stammer, forgetting how to act around her. Then he’d follow her with one astonished look, full of love, as she, reluctantly, sashayed her butt out the door. The Punchinello secret! An open secret. I smile, reliving those moments. But then the present seizes me, with its horrible reality. Our chief isn't here. And, this time, it isn't because of his own stupid choice. This time, those murderous people kidnapped him—to demonstrate their power . . . to prove they can destroy the dream—our rightful future—a united and friendly universe, the hope and the aim for which Enterprise began its journey . . . Their only contribution is to cause grief, making us conscious, making her superconscious, of their vile intentions with that evil message. This morning she came here, who knows why; perhaps dreaming, even if Vulcans are said not to dream, of finding him still here—perhaps, hoping against any logic that this is all just a nightmare, from which the sight of him would awaken her. She looked at the spot where he usually stands. He was not there. We were all silent. She slowly lifted her head and looked around, as if searching . . . I saw her eyes. I am a woman; I see what men are not capable of seeing. I swear . . . Those eyes were glassy and diaphanous, you could see right through them, like through a window—into one torn soul. I gazed into those eyes and saw the despair. She went away of here, bent. And there was Silence. Only the sound of the throbbing engines. And chill. The chill of her tortured soul. (*Commander, you’ve been with us too long. You’re becoming like us. You “perfect ice lady,” as he once called you once, his eyes glistening . . . You’ve allowed yourself to follow your heart and now you are paying the price. I hate you, I envy you, and I love you—because of all things you are for him and because of everything you’ve done for him. You made him smile again, after the sister's death. Yes, you made him suffer, too, but at belatedly you accepted his humanity and his love and reciprocated it. You shared the grief from the loss of your baby—I won’t speculate on that. I can’t, don’t want, to know your suffering. All I know is together, you and he returned to living and loving. How you and he feel with each other warms our hearts; and now . . . And now . . . NO! It will not end in this way!!! *) I stare at my companions. We understand each another. Quickly, crewmen, quickly! Without mistakes! Everything depends on us! Let engines explode, and we too; but we must rescue him and help her! We are stronger than destiny! (*Stay strong, Chief! We are about to arrive! Your engines are roaring and trembling with power and with rage, for you! Are you hearing them, Chief? Are you feeling them? Wild and untamable beasts, wounded in their heart, foaming with fury! For you! A very short time and we will be there! And we will bring your melting “Ice Lady” *) (*And the mouth? Oh, her mouth! You never will see one mouth like this one! Wonderful, perfect, swollen, red, an enchanting flower to kiss, a forbidden fruit to bite... And the lips... her lips! Such plump lips and fragrant and mellow and soft... . . . When, in the night, in the darkness, they bend up with a sweet smile . . . for me . . . a smile all my own . . . for no one else Oh my Lord, one kiss... one last languid soft tender kiss of love... only one kiss, my God! . . . small, sweet . . . Then I can die, my God, I can die! *) (*Is it my fault? Because of my meddling? Perhaps . . . but . . . NO! Certainly I helped destiny. But destiny is wicked, is blind. This time, I will be stronger than fate, and I will remove the blindfold that covers the eyes of destiny. I will be capable of everything, also of defeating the death. You will see, destiny; you will see, my friends! *) I am alone in sickbay and I am thinking, pondering, distressing. At least others have something to do, something they can use to try not to think, probably everybody but… she. I cannot. My zoo isn't helpful. Everything is quiet; everything is terribly quiet in my sickbay. And I have a lot of opportunity to think, ponder, and distress. I remember. The Captain, asking some explanations about the bond they share, right after they disclosed it him, told me with evident amusement how, when they met, she displayed disdain, refusing to touch his hand. I smile, pensively. How things change with the passing of time! Or, maybe, it is only a matter of understanding and overcoming the dread, since destiny, still has been following it’s own choices. I remember. I am a doctor. I must know the people whose health depends on me and health certainly isn’t only physical, there is also a a mental, a psychic dimension to health. I was seeing them, each by other attracted, different and similar, too proud to admit what was obvious. So, I gave destiny a hand. I remember . . . No! . . . No! It isn't my fault! It isn't my fault! Even without me, it would have happened all the same! Yes… sooner or later… sooner or later... without a doubt! It isn't my fault if now he is there, perhaps dying, perhaps... dead! It isn't my fault if she is consumed with sorrow! It is destiny . . . destiny, malicious and derisory, which plays our life with wicked fun! But this time…this time I will subdue you, cruel Destiny! I will vanquish you, destiny! (*You will see, destiny; you will see, my friends! I will be capable of everything, also of defeating death. *). (*An embrace... Am I asking too much, my God? No, no! It isn’t true! An embrace! Her body against mine . . . Her body, soft and warm . . . against mine . . . My arms around her . . . Her unique scent . . . Once again . . . just once . . . I pray you, my God! Then I will die! I promise, I promise! I swear! I will die! *) (*You might have been my own. And you are her own. And perhaps you are dying for her. Distant from her.*) I am training, practicing manoeuvres, even if it is likely that we, the MACOs, we will be useless. I do not know what we will find down there, but probably nobody will be there to oppose us. They deliberately called us, with the obvious purpose that we find him. They don't want the fight; the unique matter to them is the revenge. And what a better revenge, if we find him . . . lifeless, moribund . . . and if she can watch the spectacle in the front rank? So, they use the pain and the suffering of a Human male who dared love an alien, to able to cause pain and suffering for the Vulcan female who dared love him back; they torture these two in front of their powerless friends. Sure, what a better revenge for those people? I never had much faith in their love, even if I suspected, maybe I was the first to suspect, that she was feeling something for him. She behaved so strangely while treating the damage perhaps, . . . perhaps, caused by his neuropressure. I still think she, they were all exaggerating. Emotions, and maybe some feelings too; let’s suppose that; but is a Vulcan capable of love? A Vulcan . . . haughty, distant, cold . . . Oh, certainly. I saw them flirting . . . and I know she grieved when her daughter died. And the loss of a daughter is terrible, surely not only for Humans. Women and men are the same under every sun. Perhaps the human influence had some effect on her; but I didn’t once believe she loved him. I thought she was jealous . . . she only wanted to keep him distant from me. Until I saw her look, . . . when it happened. In full daylight, under the eyes of everyone . . . in front of Starfleet Headquarters. An explosion. Shots, confusion, shouts, wails . . . I reacted, trying to understand and then I saw. She was there, to the ground, blood covered . . . covered with red blood . . . She was looking at something. I followed her, looked, and I saw. I saw him, held by masked and armed men, bleeding, fainted. I rush, I try to elbow my way through the crowd, the injured, the bodies, the dust, the debris. In vain. They disappear, all of them. He too. I was foaming with rage. I wanted to do something. I turned to look at her. I saw her look. I shall never forget it. (*. . . to cause the pain and the sufferings of the Vulcan female . . . who dared . . . love a Human male . . . A Vulcan who . . . loves? That Vulcan? Yes! Cheif, you might have been my own. But you are her own, because you love her… as she loves you. And perhaps you are dying for her. Distant from her. It is unjust, iniquitous, and unfair. It is an inequitable destiny. I can't admit this. She defeated me, I will defeat destiny for her. For both her and him. So I will be there, to fight, if this will be necessary, against men and destiny! *). (*I pray you, my God…*) (*T’hai’la…*) (* . . . One last . . . word . . . *) (*T’HAI’LA…*) (*…One last… kiss… *) (*T’hai’la . . .…*) (*…of love…*). Milady, what's ever the life? It's the fleeting dream shade. The short tale is ended, The true immortal is love. Open your arms to suffering man. I wait for you in last call. And now, Melisenda, I entrust to one kiss the spirit that dies.
Giosué Carducci – “Jaufré Rudel” End of Part One
This is the beautiful Marinella story.
Fabrizio De André – “La storia di Marinella” Our footsteps resound on the floor. Not a sound. Not a breath. Not a moan. No one. Corridors, long and empty, winking with lights in the darkness. Closed doors to open one after other, while we search and hope and fear. I should have let Malcolm lead this rescue, but I lead it myself. I have to know what has become of my friend. Our sensors are blind, not intercepting anything. How it is possible? Where does this technology come from? Who would give them something like that? How did they carry him here? And how did they disappear under the eyes of everyone, on that damned day, he was kidnapped . . . Questions, questions, without reply and, moreover, I couldn't care less. I want only to find him, alive. And he is here, alive. I know this, because she knows this. She said only three words. "He is here". Then, the face drawn, the shoulders straightened with clear effort, she began to search for him; intent, silent, stopping in front of every door the whole way, opening it, closing her eyes just a moment before looking into the room. Before each new room we conceal ourselves behind the door, with caution and guns levelled, with expectation and dread. However he is still alive. She said "He is here". She still can feel him. But we do not know in what condition he survives. The message was clear, so how will we find him? Yes, he lives, but to what extent and for how long? There is nothing, here. There are no messages. Neither are there indications and we must act in great haste. I... must act in great haste, because, even if I don't well know the reason, I feel it is better if I find him before it she makes the discovery.
Let's hope to destiny! (*I feel you, but I don't feel your thoughts . . . I feel . . . pain . . . much pain . . . T’hai’la . . . T’hai’la . . . I am here . . . Wait for me Don't go . . . *) (*Where are you, bloody bastards? Where are you? Show you, cowards and assassins! Show your damn faces! Show me if you are capable of openly fighting, rather than pouncing on helpless and innocent people, out of the blue, like a vulture grasping a dove! *) We find no trace of them, not one soul. It was to be expected. But I wanted to take every necessary precaution and the Captain completely agreed. One never knows. I am well aware, like all of us, that those damn people are not interested in an open engagement against us. It's enough for them to slap Starfleet Security in the face, and run—like they did that awful day. If I think about that, my blood boils. The sudden attack was perfectly successful and the Starfleet Security personnel were caught like novices. When you think of it, maybe they were caught much too easily. I am sure something is rotten in that affair. I suspect there is rottenness at both higher and lower levels. It is the only plausible way to explain what happened. A greater reason for acting cautiously. I wonder if this could be a trap . . . *Prudence, caution, senses on the alert* We have adequate forces, with many well-trained MACOs. Yes . . . and one pretty fired-up MACO in particular . . . It echoes through my mind: the Corporal's words, said so only I could hear. “I request you not assign me to guard the shuttle pod. I have no wish to remain in the distance, like a steersman, inert, waiting for news. I want to go along, to fight—if this will be necessary. You are his friend, so you understand. But it’s not only that. I . . . I fear for her life, also; I’m afraid someone was has been thinking to complete the job. It would be . . .” her voice was now cracking, “a way to kill him twice.” I merely nodded, in understanding. (*I fear for her life…*). Yes, I have the same fear… and not only because of possible ambush. I frown, as I look at her in action . . . Precise, methodical, attentive . . . Grey, suffering, frightened . . . (*How I would really like to look at your faces, damn cowards and assassins! But you must remember my promise. I will unearth you. All of you. One at a time. Scientifically. Methodically. And you will pay dearly. This terrible reckoning is your destiny! *). (*Why this darkness? Why?
Why don't I feel your heart? I am in command; once again. I’m still not entirely comfortable in this role, but I’mthe only senior officer remaining on the ship. The others went down, together with several security crewmembers, many of the MACOs, some engineering staff, and obviously the doctor. It’s only fair, they don’t need a translator. However, once again, I remain behind, anxiously waiting, in hope and in distress, while others take action. This is a torture, because it compels me to think. So, I am thinking, while nevertheless I monitor the screen, following the anxious and frenetic search of my friends on the planet. I am thinking about that daydream after the meld mind—a daydream once as confusing as it is now absolutely clear. It was their love, yes, it was that . . . and, who knows. Maybe this mental sharing is something involuntary, something Vulcans can do when they find their beloved. But, if it is true, perhaps… perhaps she is able to feel him and, I hope, to make him aware that she is near him and that he’s not alone. His friends are joining with him, to fight and to defeat an evil and adverse destiny. Ashayam, I beseech you... listen to me! Are you feeling me? What is this chill? This frost which freezes me? Why I don't feel your soul? Please, Ashayam; I beg you… don’t go! Don’t go my beloved, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!!! Doors, corridors, doors . . . But where is he? Where? Damn it, where? (*Ashayam…*) Chief, we are here... Where are you, chief? (*T’hai’la, Ashal-veh…*) What the hell kind of place is this? Who built vast basement complex? Rooms, one after the other... and time passes! Soon! Soon! (*Wait for, oh wait for me . . . please, please, please . . . don’t go . . .*) Sooner! Sooner! (*T’hai’la…*) “Quickly! Run! Run! But where is he? Run, damn it, run!” (*T’hai’la…don’t go…*) We must find him! (*T’hai’la…I beg you… Wait for me, I am here, I am here!*) We must find him! We must do it! Now! Now! Now! (*I implore you, I implore you! Don’t go, my love, don’t go!!! *) “Chief!!!” (*I entreat you…*) Hell, more doors! Hell, these doors!!! (*T’hai’la…*) Come on! Hurry up!!! (*T’hai’la…*) Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU? (*T’hai’la…*) WHERE ARE YOU? (*T’hai’la!*) WHERE? WHERE? WHEREEE?!? “T’hai’laAAA!!!!…”
And she, not believing he was died,
Fabrizio De André – “La storia di Marinella” End of Part Two
The woman bent on the pale lover. clasping him to her bosom; three times she kissed his trembling mouth with the kiss of love. And the laughing sun, lowering to the wave from the serene sky, illuminated her blond long hair flowing upon her dead love.
Giosué Carducci – “Jaufré Rudel” I freeze, and then I turn round abruptly, looking at my crew. We, all of us, are staring at her in shock, frozen by the shout; by her shout. What does this word mean that she has shouted? Whirling thoughts, lasting just a flash, as I'm gazing at her, like all the others. She stands motionless, as white as a sheet, with open wide eyes, mouth agape, beads of sweat on the forehead, clenched fists, gun to the ground. She is staring hard at something. I follow the direction of her look. A door. Next to me. I shake myself and act swiftly. Before anyone—before she—can make a move, I am running towards the door, I pull up short in front of it, press a button, and the door opens with an ominous hiss. I peep through the opening, levelling my gun. I look fearfully into the room, and hear the noise of running footsteps behind my back. And I see. Oh my God, oh my God, NO! How can this happen? I SEE!!! I SEE!!! NO! NO! She… she cannot… she cannot see this! She must not see this! I turn, frantic, throwing away the gun. I see her, running towards me, going first, before the others, the eyes wide open in terror. I wait for her. I face her. I catch her and stop her. She looks at me, dumb with surprise. Then she understands. She struggles, wriggles from my grasp. She is strong and rids herself of me. I fall to the ground. I frantically jump to my feet to catch her and prevent . . . . But she is already beyond the door, inside the room. She stops all of a sudden. I stop with her. The others crowd behind us. Time freezes. Seconds seem like ages. Then, a long and doleful moan resounds clear in the air, coming from her, ending with a heartrending sob. I watch her as she slowly slides to the ground. She remains on the floor, crouched, huddled, back bent, shoulders sagging, trembling hands in her lap, lifting her head to look at the horror. I slowly move forward, halting near her. I don't dare touch her. I don't dare do anything. I advance into the room, looking at . . . looking at . . . there is a burning lump in my throat. I hear the others are approaching, speechless, astonished. The horror and the incredulity permeate the air and are impressed on our faces. I am the Captain and I do not know the orders I should give. I look at . . . it, then I look at my comrades, then at her, still motionless, petrified in her dumb dismay. Finally, I speak. "Carefully . . . ,“ my voice is breaking “Carefully, . . . we bring him down." The Captain's words prick me and wake me from the fog I was submerged in. Together with the captain, I approach the wall where he, our friend, . . . is attached. I beckon several comrades to help us and reluctantly they prepare to do it. Suffering from effort and horror, we achieve our purpose with difficulty. Acting quickly, two of our group throw their magnetic grasping-hooks at the ceiling. Hoisting themselves by the thin metallic ropes reeling from the hooks, they move to the height of his feet. They unscrew the nuts of the bolts which, passing through his ankles, keep him hanging on the wall. Visibly swallowing hard, they seize his broken legs and, with a nod from the doctor, delicately slip off his ankles from the bolts, holding him in such a way that he can't fall to the ground. Stepping carefully so as not to slide on the large puddle of blood that has leaked onto the floor, we crowd below and take him from the hands of our comrades. The doctor is aiding us, with an impenetrable, hard face, as hard as we have ever seen. Under his guidance, we place our friend on the floor with infinite care. He is entirely enervated, like a supple puppet. I laboriously get up and lift my head, to look at the evil inscription on the wall, over the spot where he was hanging.
I am shutting my eyes, trying to blot out of my mind the scene of that body, naked, bolted to the wall by the ankles, head downwards, the broken arms hanging down, blood covered, rarely letting out harsh and painful death-rattles, his mouth half-closed, his eyes wide open, a blood’s stream dripping from the nose. *These vile hypocrites. He was only an officer carrying out his duties, who stumbled into love.* Shaking my head, I open my eyes and turn to look at her. She didn't make one move, huddled on the floor with a glassy and fixed stare. We go off, so that the doctor can do his work, if he can do something. I look around. The faces are pale and drawn. Many people seem to be ill. The captain seems a shade. I look for a hidden place, for vomiting. I don't know, I don't know. I never will understand this race, capable of doing such great things and such awful abominations. I look at that body tormented and motionless, from which life is draining away. I bend down upon it. I work. I begin my absurd and useless work. I must work because I am a doctor, a damned, fucked doctor (*You have won, destiny. I lied. I am not capable of defeating death. *) I get up; everyone is silent. I look at them, at his friends, at Captain; then I stare into her face. She shakes herself and gazes back. I cannot look at those eyes wide open for whatever. I cannot bear that wounded look. I remove my gaze from hers. Powerless, I close my eyes. *It isn’t my fault. It isn’t my fault! *) And the laughing sun, lowering to the wave from the serene sky, illuminated her blond long hair flowing upon her dead love.
Giosué Carducci – “Jaufré Rudel” End of Part Three
“The storm is eager for blood! Stay! Don't go!” From ”Eros and Leander”
Opera by Giovanni Bottesini – Libretto by Arrigo Boito Silence. Only the sound of our harsh breaths. Silence. Our glances meet, out of his line of sight . . . and hers. Silence. And frost. The frost of his . . . near and unavoidable end, of our hearts . . . and of her destroyed soul. (*Chief! . . . Chief? . . . Can it be ending in this way? Really? A brilliant mind and soul . . . extinguished---LIKE THIS? *) Silence. We haven't a voice. (*And Chief, . . . Sir, . . . Trip . . . you’ll never speak again? Never give us orders? Never stammer near her, while more a composed Vulcan voice replies? You will not be with us?*) Silence. And frost. I look at the doctor. He is bent, destroyed, powerless, his eyes closed. The Captain, the closest friend of our Chief, is moving like a feeble shade. He and Malcolm are covering him from the cold. It is all they can do. And she... Suddenly she snaps out of her posture! She lifts her head, standing up. She intensely stares at Commander’s body, motionless, by now… without breath, on the ground. Then, she looks around, her eyes wide open and flashing dangerous, her breath loud, harsh, and labored. Her wild look comes back to that injured and still body and, finally, still gazing at it, she bursts into a furious rush, stopping abruptly beside it. Standing before the Commander's motionless form, staring at it, forgetful of everyone and of everything, breathing erratically, she is opening and clenching her fists. Her mouth, her lips are quivering in an endeavour to utter any sound. We are motionless, speechless, astounded at the drama which is occurring in front of us. The madness! It is the madness the doctor warned me of. So, it is true and it is happening now before our eyes! What must I do now, in God's name? What must I do? What can I do? What should I do? I look at the doctor, with questioning and worried eyes. He is frozen, surprised by the sudden turn of events. Nevertheless I must do something. As I dash towards her, a sound comes from her mouth, a harsh and pitiful cry, long and clear, quite audible for everyone both here and on Enterprise—a sound that jams my steps and my mind. It is a howl of sorrow and of insanity. A sole word. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!” My God! My God! No! NO! NO! Not like this! Not like this! I leapt out of the command chair, tears of grief and anger streaming down my face, my eyes unable to tear themselves from the screen. The people in the bridge are all in their feet, astonished, incredulous, without breath. I nearly can feel the grievous silence permeating the ship. It sounds like even the engines have stopped their humming. What is it happening? What is it happening? My friend dies and she is . . . what? I seize the Captain by the arm. I shake him. I look at the doctor . . . What is it happening? What the devil is happening!?! I must break off my palsy. They look to me, expectantly. They demand I do something—that I at least help her (as I could not help him). Of course, it is logical! I am the doctor. But I am a powerless, worthless doctor! Still, I approach to do something—I have no idea what. As if she has intuited my thoughts, she raises her eyes from that inert body and stares at me . . . She stares for a long moment... Finally, it is as if something breaks inside her. Her eyes fill with tears, her look rests again on him, her body slackens, and suddenly she collapses on her knees beside him. She hugs him, tightly clasping his head to her bosom. Her shoulders are jumping for the loud sobs. She cradles him in her arms, covering his hair and his forehead with desperate kisses. And we, all of us shameful and afflicted by her emotional collapse before us all, our hearts shattering into small pieces because of their horrible destiny . . . we lower our heads. “Dead! on the hard rock. A struck and bleeding body .”
From ”Eros and Leander” End of Part Four
"Ah! The lightning hits me! … She is safe!! She is dead!! ... ”
From “Eros and Leander” (*I feel . . . There is something that shines, in the darkness . . . There is something that warms, in the frost . . . I feel . . . I feel the warmth of one body that I know . . . I sense her skin . . .it’s smell! I . . . I feel her lips . . . Yes, yes . . . They are her lips . . .
. . . her sweet, sweet lips! *) (*Ashayam . . . How can I survive without you? My love, my love . . . How shall I do it? *) (*Oh my God, my God! It's her, it's her, it's her!!! You answered me, Lord, you answered!*) (*Oh my T’hai’la! Why? Why? Why are you going, in this way? . . . taking with you all that you gave me . . *) (*Therefore, I can die, my God… Now I can die... *) (*. . . taking my life away with you . . .*) (*. . . sure, I can die . . . *) (*. . . my mind . . .*) (*. . . I can die . . . *) (*. . . my heart . . .*) (* . . . I can . . . *) (*. . . my soul!*) (*. . . I . . . *) (*My love, my love, my love!!! *) (*What's this? *) (*My sole, immense, wonderful love! *) (*What's this sound? What's this moisture on my skin? *) (*I will become insane, I know! *) (*Oh my God! She is weeping! T’Pol is crying! My God, no! Not this! *) (*I don't want to become crazy! I don't want madness to make me forget you!*) (*She cannot, she mustn't do this! I think she wants to hurt herself! *) (*I will die with you! Now! And if it is true what Humans believe in, in this case, we will be still together! Forever! You and me! *) (*No, my God, no! I beg Your forgiveness, but I cannot! I cannot, my Lord! I cannot leave her at the very moment she needs me! I cannot allow her to harm herself! *) (*I am about to arrive, my Ashayam! *) (*You know it, God, You know it! Emotions can destroy her! Only I understand what happened. Only I can help her! I cannot die now! I just can’t! I must protect her! *) (*Soon, my T’hai’la, soon . . .*) (*Give me the strength, my Lord . . . *) (*Now, my love . . .*) (*Give me the strength!*) (*Now!*) (*Now!*) “Ah! The lightning hits me! . . . She is safe!! She is dead!! . . .”
From “Eros and Leander”
End of Part Five
. . . transitoque eius fluuio recolens priora uestigia ad istum caelestium siderum redies chorum. . . . and, after you will have gone again through the river, retracing your steps, you will come back to this sky with its stars choir.
Lucius Apuleius – “The Eros and Psyche Tale” (*What IS she doing? What’s she have? NO! And how did she get it? Where did it come from?*) Struck with horror, I watch the scene unfold before our eyes! Her back has stopped jumping from the sobs, she’s broken her embrace, and is laying his head back down to the floor with extreme delicacy. Still on her knees, she straightens her back, stretching out her left arm to lay an open hand on his chest, with loving gesture. She raises her head, looking towards the opposite wall. Her face is tear-stained, her lips tightened. And then, suddenly, while she closes her eyes, a knife appears, clenched in her trembling right hand, the tip of the blade aimed at her throat! (*Madness! Madness! Damned madness of this bond! Damned madness of her love!*) What should I do? I am the closest. Can I dash towards her? Should I call to her? Will that cause her to startle? Would it be better to keep silent, just watching . . . and hoping? What to do? What to do, for God's sake!!! Time freezes. Seconds seem like ages. Yet again, in this day which destroys our souls. All of a sudden she opens wide her eyes and lowers an incredulous look at the hand which is resting on his chest. It is moving, ever so slightly. Yes! It is true! That hand is moving, . . . but not by virtue of her will. It moves by another force. Her hand is lifted by his chest, which is swelling with a deep breath, the sound vibrating clearly around us! The hand sinks again, riding on his chest while it empties of air. One moment . . . one long and endless moment . . . Then, again the hand is lifted, pushed by a chest that expands, with another deep breath. Then another, then another and another . . . till the breath becomes continuous, even if quick, difficult, and uneven. I dare not breathe. I am incredulous, astounded . . . hopeful. I look to my comrades, reading the same expression, the same wonder, the same inexpressible hope on their faces. Finally, I look back to her. She maintains the same posture, but her breath has become rapid. She moves the look from her hand to his closed eyes, staring at him with a frightening intensity, her pupils dilated, her eyelids open wide, gazing at his lowered eyelids and into the crazy hope. And then, those eyes, his eyes, open, suddenly! We give a start. She, too, gives a start, almost scared. Soon afterwards, staring still at his eyes, she very slowly lowers the hand that is clenching the knife, without letting go it. Those eyes, his eyes, follow her hand and, then, his left arm is moving. The arm is raised with effort, until his hand reaches hers. His fingers interlace with hers, forcing her to let go of the knife, which falls to the floor with a thud. With their fingers still hooked, he turns eyes again to hers. His stare is radiating . . . (*yes, I can see it plainly *) it is radiating . . . love. Trembling, she finally releases herself, and again her eyes fill with tears, which roll free and plentiful on her cheeks. He watches her… watches steadily… while lifting his other hand. Slowly, laboriously, he reaches her face, strokes her cheeks lovingly, delicately, tenderly; and wipes away the tears. Incredulous, almost in dismay, we look at in silence. And we can see his mouth open and his lips move to speak. And his words resound clear and loud, even if drawled and broken by harsh breaths.
“Don't . . . cry . . . don't cry . . . my love! . . . Don’t let this sorrow . . . these emotions . . . overwhelm you! . . . I am here. . . I am here . . .with you! And I… will be . . . with you . . . forever! . . . Because you, you . . . are . . . my destiny!”
“…. Puellam elegit et uirginitate priuauit: teneat, possideat, amplexus Psychen semper suis amoribus perfruatur." “….He already has his woman and already plucked the flower of her virginity. Therefore he will keep her, they will make love in their bed and he will take pleasure and delight from Psyche and from her love, forever.” From among Zeus’ words to the gods Sic rite Psyche conuenit in manum Cupidinis et nascitur illis maturo partu filia, quam Voluptatem nominamus.
So Psyche became the Eros bride, with a right marriage and, just at the exact time, a daughter was born, whom we call Voluptuousness
Lucius Apuleius – “The Eros and Psyche Tale” THE END Voluptuousness . . . A name, but also a program!
Joking apart, I wanted to finish this fic with a reference to "The Eros and Psyche Tale", because, in my opinion, there are a lot of analogies between the story of Trip and T'Pol and the story of Eros and Psyche. Finally, (I’m joking again), there is the behaviour of Voluptuousness’s parents (Eros and Psyche)—their quite “hot” lovemaking. (You must read Lucius Apuleius.)... And who knows if this also fits for Trip and T’Pol? ;) If you enjoyed my story and if you will be so kind as to read the next fics I try to write, well, then you will know the answer. After such a lot of angst, some tender, hot love is probably welcome! |
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