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Date: Mon, 16 Feb 2004 20:22:58 -0600
Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW TOS FFF Ophelia [PG-13] (Ch/R) 1/1
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Title:   Ophelia
Author:  Hypatia Kosh
Series:  STAR TREK
Pairing: Chapel/Rand
Rating:  PG-13
Summary: Chapel and Rand are on landing party duty together.

"Stardate 2021.5. Yeoman Janice Rand reporting. We have made
planetfall at 1545, ship's time. The landing party comprises six
members, whose names I have noted earlier. Our mission is to
collect silk-weaving insects, as noted earlier, on this planet,
which is known as Beta Aquilae III, or Dawkins' planet, after
the famous biologist, et cetera. Awaiting instructions at this
time."

I slap my tricorder shut and look over the landing party. The
roster today is Kirk, Spock, Boma, Uhura, Chapel and Rand.
That's me.

We parked our shuttlecraft in a meadow, but our quarry lies in
the woods a hundred meters off. Our mission: bug collection. The
bugs have been nicknamed "Dawkins' ants" and they are prized for
creating a "silk" with purported (Mr. Spock's word) high-tensile
strength. Perhaps not the most glorious mission in the history
of Starfleet, but one of prime interest to industry, so I'm
told. The sort of mission that keeps 'Fleet solvent, so I'm
told. 

Well, it could always be worse. 

This planet has been charted and explored twice before, and
we're not expected to run into any trouble. The Enterprise has
left orbit to do new sensor scans of the other planets in this
system. Meanwhile, we leave the shelter of the shuttle to head
out into the wild. I can tell that the Captain isn't happy about
either of these things, though both decisions were his. He's
keenly aware of our tactical situation at all times. Right now
it makes him itchy. I feel compelled to watch him at times like
this, in part because our lives ride on his decisions, in part
because he's so compelling. Oh, what am I saying? Stop pining,
Janice.

I have a new reason to lighten my steps and quicken my pace on
this lively, sunny day. This alien meadow is humming around me
and the Captain has nothing to do with it.

Her name is Christine Chapel, Nurse First Class. I looked in her
file, and she has an almost-completed M.D.

I remember when we first met. The first thing I noticed about
her was her radiant smile. Then I caught an eyeload of her
gorgeous gams. So sue me, I was jealous. 

She's a sweet woman, quite nice once you get her to open up a
bit. She also has the most beautiful legs in Starfleet. Very
unappreciated legs, but I intend to make up for that soon
enough. 

She joined Starfleet to find her fiance, but she found him and
learned that she had only been following an illusion. All this
time she's been studiously devoted and hasn't let herself live.
She's so new to everything that she makes me giddy.

I watch her fan out to the edge of the landing party, tricorder
in hand.

The Captain says that we should split off into pairs, checking
in every ten minutes. He indicates that I should follow Chapel.

I don't know how much he sees, but he has been more relaxed
around me since I gave up on that crush I had on him.
Perversely, it makes him even more attractive. But I know my
place, I'm just a lowly yeoman. At least he treats me like a
person and not an annoyance these days.

For a moment he glances at me; his look is as pensive as I feel.
The moment passes and we part ways. I wonder.

I wish I knew what was on his mind. Those things he hides from
everyone, out of discretion or because he has to be the Captain.

Returning to my reality, I make for Christine like a
heat-seaking missile. She's standing all alone, dutifully
scanning with her tricorder. Time for action, Janice! I sidle up
to her and ask for help with the tricorder settings. Playing
dumb, oh, excuse me, "demure," works like a charm with boys, and
it has the desired effect now. She very gently and discreetly
takes me aside and lays out the proper procedure for me. I peer
over her shoulder, pressing closer until my breasts are nestled
against her arm and my crotch is close to her svelte thighs. I'm
getting so wet and hot so quickly that when she asks me if I
understand it's not guile but sheer arousal that causes me not
to answer. And she's so sweet about it; she just patiently
explains it all to me again.

We head out together following the train of her tricorder
readings. Uhura and Boma from sciences head in a different
direction, and the Captain and Mr. Spock in yet another. I
quietly make note of this--these things come up in reports.

We round a hill, out of sight of the other members of the
landing party, and begin to pick our way into a wooded area.
Lucky thing these microfiber fishnet stockings are tougher than
they look.

I was there when we found her fiance, Roger Korby. I prepared
the final version of all the reports, so I knew everything that
happened. Christine tried to hide it, but she was hurt. Then she
got caught up in that ridiculous infatuation with Mr. Spock and
she got even more hurt. It pained me to see her like that, so
brittle, trying to meet an ideal she could never meet. 

"How much farther?" I ask her, to make conversation.

"About forty meters." She smiles, briefly. "Closer than it
looks."

"Through all that brush, huh?" I make a pouty face for her and
she laughs. "Come on, we can do it," she says.

Honestly, I don't understand what she saw in him, or what the
captain sees in him, for that matter. Sure, he's a mathematical
genius and a valuable officer, but as for  personality he's a
cold fish. 



"Look!" I say, stunned by the view. A canopy of leafy branches
rises before us from the trunks of great trees, and cascading
from the heights are thick lines of white silk, spun by the
industrious ants. Silk is strung from branch to branch, in
riotous array. Long lines descend to the ground, fresh ones with
tiny beads of moisture.

An older strand has blown to the ground; I stoop to pick it up.
"It's rather thick for an insect fiber," I remark. The tangled
strand feels soft and dry in my hand.

Christine smiles at me and takes an end of the strand in her
hand. She starts telling me all about its fantastic biochemical
structure. It all goes straight over my head, I'm afraid. But
her gray eyes are sparkling and she is so beautiful.

I don't understand why she spent so long playing Ophelia to his
Hamlet. Leave Hamlet to Horatio, I say.



We report back to the captain. Evidently we've made better
progress than his party, as he decides to rendezvous at our
location.

Christine diplomatically suggests that Mr. Spock must have been
distracted by geologic formations, or "something of that kind."
I tell her that he was more likely distracted by the humanoid
lifeform in his immediate vicinity and she blushes pink. So
cute!

Kirk bounds up to us in less than a minute, still breathless
from running. Mr. Spock trots up behind him.

Kirk congratulates her for a job well done; but she, for just a
moment, casts a glance at Spock, with a look of terrible
longing, before she abruptly looks away. 

God, it still makes me so angry.



When we return to the ship in triumph, the Captain surprises
Scotty by finding some excuse to spirit himself and the first
officer away. Evidently the Captain's pleasure today is to
celebrate in private, with Spock. 

Let them. Ophelia and I are creating new worlds of our own.




[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]



 
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