The universe, etc. belongs to Paramount.  The idea belongs to me.  So 
does the feedback.

Cinderella
by Nancy Brown (nancy@rat.org)
copyright 1995
 
 
 
     As she examined the thing on her bed, she made a mental note
to order the person responsible for this fiasco to the shuttle bay,
then accidentally order the bay door opened.  The thought brought
a level of comfort back to her, though not nearly enough.  Ideas of
this nature were not only non-productive and childish, they were
also impractical.  Besides, spacing the Tellarite Ambassador would
look bad on her record.
     At least she wouldn't be the only one there to be miserable. 
The entire senior staff was obligated to go to the damned
reception, and that alone would almost make it worth going.  Her
mind drifted, imagining her colleagues preparing for tonight.  The
men would of course be in their dress uniforms, but the women were
to wear gowns.  Tellarite custom.  Hell, it would be on their ship,
she supposed.  If they wanted to let the men take charge of
everything and keep the women as ornamental twits, it was their
right and privilege.  That was the stuff the Prime Directive was
made on; even if she found it morally reprehensible, she could
accept it as part of a distinctly unique culture.
     Unfortunately, it meant that she had to wear this ridiculous
outfit tonight.
     Tellarite formal wear left much to the imagination, and for
this she was thankful.  In form, it resembled something vaguely
reminiscent of the Elizabethan era from Earth's past.  That is to
say, it would have been Elizabethan had the good Queen been part
giraffe and part hippopotamus.  The collar of the dress went up. 
Way up.  She hoped, irrationally, that there would be no low-flying
birds in the area, or else they might have a problem in navigation. 
Meanwhile, the sleeves and bodice were made of some poofy material
that made her look like a well-padded Parrises Squares' player.  Or
a child about to go outside to play in the snow.  The skirt was
full enough to make walking within a two foot radius of her
hazardous.  It was all ... pink.  And then there were the shoes.
     The outfit wouldn't have been half so terrible if it hadn't
been for the damned shoes she was expected to wear.  They were made
of some hard polymer that refused adamantly to mold themselves
properly to her feet.  She was certain that she'd have blisters by
the end of what promised to be a very long night.  To top it off,
though, the damned things were transparent.  Assuming anyone could
get close enough to her without tripping, the first thing they
would see were her feet scrunched up inside painful shoes.
     She sighed, and began the tedious process of getting dressed.
     She slipped her uniform off, tossing it carelessly onto a
chair.  She'd deal with it later.  She wished idly that she could
wear her dress uniform, knowing how much simpler in comparison it
would be to put on than this thing.  He'd probably take one look at
her in this getup and laugh until ...
     Stop it! she ordered herself.  Thoughts of him were completely
off-limits, for a million reasons.  She'd told herself that time
and again when her mind turned traitor on her, and it usually
worked.  She would not imagine his hands rubbing her aching
shoulders, nor his lips pressed against the base of her neck, and
she sure as hell wouldn't think of him tugging at the zipper of her
uniform until it puddled on the floor, and his body moving against
hers.  Nope.  She would just have to think of something else.
     She would think about spacing the Tellarite Ambassador.
 
 
 
     The senior staff gathered at the appropriate time to beam en
masse to the Tellarite ship.  No one made a comment yet on the
dresses that two of them by virtue of gender were obliged to wear. 
There were no fools among the males of the senior staff.
     The Ambassador was not waiting for them in his own transporter
room; his aide was to bring them to the reception proper.  Ah
protocol, she thought, and smiled blandly while following behind
the aide.  From the back, they looked almost human, she thought
absently.  If it weren't for the snout ...  Then she dismissed the
thought.  It has to be something hormonal tonight, she reasoned. 
Just because he's walking beside me and I can practically feel the
heat from his body through layers of cloth is no reason to lose my
train of thought.  Exactly.  I'm being good.  I haven't thought of
him in that way for at least an hour.
     The first of many pains in her feet made itself known, and she
winced.
     "Are you all right?"  It took her a moment to register his
voice, so lost was she on congratulating herself for not thinking
of him at all.
     "Hmmm?  Oh.  Yes, I'm fine.  It's these shoes."  He glanced
down.  Great.  The last thing she wanted him to look at tonight was
her feet.  Brilliant move, kid.  Just brilliant.
     He sidled closer to her, and her heart skipped.  He bent his
head closer to her and whispered, "With the length of that dress,
I'd be willing to bet that absolutely no one would notice if you
removed them."
     "I'll keep it in mind.  Sir."  He smiled very slightly, and it
forced a returning smile from her.  Oh, but how beautiful a smile
he had.  He moved slightly back over.
     Suddenly, she felt her cheeks flushing as she realized that
the others were behind them, and had probably seen how his smile
had made her react.  Damn.  She risked a peek behind her.
     To her relief, the only one who seemed even remotely
interested in their exchange was the one person she could trust to
not have read anything at all into it.  She smiled at him, and he
nodded back once.  She hadn't been expecting a smile.  In fact, she
would be hard pressed to remember if she'd ever seen him actually
turn his mouth that way.  Which could account for why she liked
him.
     At last, the long walk was finished, and they were at the door
to the room where the reception would be held.  The aide stepped
away from the doors and she gasped as they slid open.  Before her
was a scene vastly unlike what she had been expecting.
     Tellarites were known for their predisposition to
belligerence, for their engineering abilities, and for little else. 
She was expecting a garish display of both technological marvels
and boorish bravado, broad swatches of cloth in bold colors,
weapons.  She had expected lights and colors of the imagination,
robotics, anything.
     She did not expect a blank room.
     The walls were utterly devoid of decoration, and the room very
nearly so of light.  The only thing in the place, other than the
Tellarites themselves, was a table set discretely against the wall
with food.
     Of course, one could not forget the Tellarites.  They were
dancing.  She was fairly sure they were dancing.  Music came from
some unseen place, and the forms out in the middle of the room were
moving distinctly in time with it, pressed close to one another. 
She really hoped they were dancing.
     One of the forms grew, and in the dimness, she realized the
Ambassador was coming to greet them.
     He reached out and took her hand, then the Captain's.  He said
something in his own language, of which she knew only a smattering,
then said in Standard: "I greet you, my friends, into this place
where weapons are set down for fairer sport."
     The Captain replied, "On behalf of these others, I thank you. 
May we bring honor to all of our peoples."
     The Ambassador smiled.  "Join us then in the rites of the
dance."
     The Captain shifted, and she tried not to smile.  She was
continually discovering new things that he could do and do well. 
Dancing, however, was not his cup of tea.
     The Ambassador did not seem to notice.  "You shall have the
first dance with my mate, Gata.  She will show you all you need
know about our dance, which you will discover is one of the most
pleasant in the galaxy."
     "I'm sure I will."  The Ambassador turned and motioned towards
another figure.  The woman, presumably his wife, came forward,
bowed deeply to her new dance partner, and held out her hands. 
Carefully, respectfully, he took them.  Without a glance back, they
joined the others in the center of the room.
     The Ambassador turned to them.  "You all may feel free to
mingle.  There are many who would teach you our dance."  He nodded
towards the middle again, and other Tellarites came towards them. 
He faced her.  "I would request the honor of teaching you, my
lady."
     "I would be the one honored, Ambassador," she said, hardly
hearing her own words.  He held out his hands, and she placed hers
into them.  She did spare a glance to her friends, who were taking
partners of their own.  Her feet reminded her of their existence
again as they swept out together to the floor.
     The dance was not as unusual as she'd first thought.  Their
hands remained touching at their sides, and the Ambassador touched
his forehead against hers.  They began to rock gently with the
rhythm of the song, soft movements to match soft notes.  His breath
was surprisingly sweet against her face, and she found herself
smiling as they moved together.
     "You find this amusing?" came his low voice.
     "Not in the way you might think.  I am enjoying myself more
than I thought I would," she admitted.
     "I see.  You thought that we would be, what is the word, more
brutish in our ways?"
     "No," she said too quickly, "I simply was expecting something
more ostentatious."
     He let out a snort, and she feared she'd angered him until she
saw his smile.  "My people tend to be very 'ostentatious' in
matters of conflict.  However, we choose to be more subtle in
matters of love."  They turned, and she found herself facing the
Ambassador's mate dancing with the same strange intimacy with the
Captain.  She looked away, not wishing to stare.
     He smiled again.  She realized that he had a habit of smiling
more than was normal for his people.  Or perhaps, only what she
expected to be normal.  She was quickly discovering that she had
much to learn about Tellarites.
     "Seeing them together disturbs you."
     "Of course not."
     He sighed, and adjusted his hands until he was holding hers
like a small child's.  "You need not fear telling me the truth, my
dear.  Your eyes are more expressive than you know.  You want him."
     She looked pointedly at his ear.  "You see much, Ambassador."
     "It serves me well.  At the moment, I see a woman who cannot
admit that she wants a man.  Among my people, this is a serious
problem."
     "Ambassador, please."
     "Why do you not go to him and tell him?"
     "It would be improper.  He's the Captain.  And I'm ... "
     "A lonely woman who would be in his arms."
     She stopped moving and pulled her head back.  "Why are you
doing this?" she whispered almost fiercely.
     He leaned against her and stayed silent until they had picked
up the music again.  "I saw your eyes the moment we first met, and
I knew that you were dying for lack of something.  Child, that was
part of the reason I suggested this reception."
     "What?!"
     "I am an ambassador for a very good reason: I have a gift for
uniting people.  I am a mender of things that do not even realize
that they are broken.  You are broken.  I would make you whole."
     Her mind began churning.  Coming from anyone else, this would
sound like a half-decent pass.
     "Come with me to the refreshments.  I have something to show
to you."  They disengaged, and he led her towards the small table.
     Now she could see the technology in action: tiny robots,
almost the size and shape of mice, were carefully checking on the
food, bringing more out bit by bit.  In the center of the table was
a large orange globe, from which the mice emerged and disappeared
into again.  The Ambassador said something low in his own language
into the top of the globe, then gathered a handful of small fruits,
no bigger than the end of her finger.
     "Try this.  It's called a yulla."  She placed one into her
mouth, and felt it dissolve as it touched her tongue in a melting
sweetness.
     "It's delicious."  She tried another, and a different
sensation, no less pleasant, went through her mouth.
     "It changes every time you taste one.  No person tastes the
same yulla twice, so every taste is precious and cherished."  A
mouse-robot came out of the orange globe and zipped over to the
Ambassador, something in its mouth.  He plucked it away, and the
creature scurried back into the pumpkin.
     He held the thing in his fingers close to her eyes so that she
could see it in the dim light.  It looked like nothing so much as
a small, somewhat odd-shaped pearl.  He placed it in her hand.
     "A gift for you."
     "Ambassador, I can't accept this."
     "Yes you can.  It would be a breach of etiquette not to
accept."
     "Then I thank you.  May I ask its nature?"
     "Of course, but the only way to truly learn is to use it."
     "I don't understand."
     "It is a seed to a flower on my world, the same flower that
eventually produces the yulla.  It is said that the woman who holds
the seed in one hand will find the love of her life touching the
other before the center of the night."  He must have seen the
skepticism on her face.  "I realize how it sounds, but I would have
you know that my mate held such a seed when first we danced.  That
was ten hetas ago.  This song will end very shortly, and I will
take my mate to dance.  When I do, you should ask your Captain.  Or
perhaps, make him ask you."
     Before she could say anything, the music stopped, and the
dancers pulled away and applauded, although whom they were
applauding escaped her notice.  All she could see were the
Ambassador's wife and the Captain moving towards them.
     "Gata, did you teach the Captain well?"
     "Of course, my darling.  Now perhaps I may interest you in
some education?"
     "Perhaps.  If you'll excuse us?"  The couple moved out to the
floor again just as the music started again, a different rhythm
than from before.
     "So did you pick up any interesting tidbits from the
Ambassador?"  He searched the table for something, then took a
yulla and popped it into his mouth.  His eyes widened.
     "Only dance moves, I'm afraid."  He laughed, and she wondered
how he had enjoyed his dance with Gata.  Then she became aware that
the others in their party were already dancing again and there were
just the two of them alone.
     "Interesting reception."  He took another yulla.
     "Yes.  Captain?"
     "Yes?"
     "Would you care to dance?"  Her stomach knotted.
     "Only if you promise to stay away from my toes with those
shoes."
     "I promise."  Together, they moved to be near the other
dancers.
     She discovered that he was very light on his feet, and that
his hands were as warm as she'd imagined.  She kept the seed palmed
slightly away from his touch, in case he should ask her what it
was.  Their foreheads were joined just barely, and his breath was
as sweet against her own as the Ambassador's had been.
     She tried to remember how she had learned so long ago, the
secret to keeping the music in time with the beating of her own
heart.  She felt so clumsy against his grace, yet at the same time,
she was the master, for she had been dancing for all her life.
     They began to speak, very idly, in the timeless sway of the
music.  She mentioned a bit of ship's gossip, and he surprised her
by having heard two other versions of the same story.  At the same
time, they noticed that the couple nearest them had a Tellarite
female and a most assuredly non-Tellarite male.  He was not exactly
frowning, but he wasn't looking overly pleased, either.
     They turned in time with the music, and she was lightyears
away from thoughts of anyone but the man who held her hands so
gently in his own.
     The music changed, became more seductive if that were
possible, and suddenly all the dancers were pressed close to one
another.  She was ready to pull away, let him share the dance with
someone else, then saw in his eyes that there could be no one else. 
They moved closer, and closed their eyes to the wonder of the
melody that consumed them, soaring with the notes, sinking within
the spaces between the stars.
     After what might have been an hour, or perhaps a few seconds,
the music stopped, and again the invisible musicians were
applauded.  Lights rose from nowhere.  It was finished for the
evening.  Sadly, she realized that the dance was not the only thing
finished, as he pulled smoothly away.
     The Ambassador wished them well, and with his mate, saw them
to the transporter room.  Just before she disembarked, he touched
the hand where she still held the seed and smiled at her.  No
words, just a smile and the promise of magic that would only last
until midnight.  The transporter whined, and the group of them were
home again.
     They both lived on the same deck; it was only proper that they
go there together.  In a fraction of a moment, they reached his
door, and as with the Ambassador, there were no words to be said
but two.
     "Good night."  She turned and headed towards her own safe
quarters, her own safe bed.  She could close her eyes and dream of
this night, that would in her dream perhaps end with his voice
saying ...
     "Wait."  That hadn't been a dream.  She turned around.  "Sir?"
     "I'm not sure if I'll be able to sleep after that.  Would you
care to come in and talk?  Just for a while."  She nodded, and he
waited for her to enter the room first.  She did, limping only
slightly.
     "Do you mind if I take these off?"
     "Not at all."  She slipped the awful slippers from her feet.
     "Thank you.  That feels so much better."
     "I still say you should have taken them off earlier."  She
smiled half-heartedly, sat down, and proceeded to work the cramps
out of her toes with her fingers.  Let him see her feet.  She
didn't care anymore.  She slid the seed into one of the shoes for
safe keeping with her free hand.
     "Let me help."  He knelt down and took one of her feet in his
hands and began massaging it.
     Startled, she stammered, "Sir!"
     "There will be no sore feet on this ship.  Got it?"
     "Yes sir," she said in a false meek voice and wiggled her toes
in his hand.
     "Good.  Now that we have that settled, let me work on the
other one."  He pressed his thumb into her arch and began making
circular motions.  She sat back, letting herself enjoy it as he
worked her toes back and forth, then grazed her heel with his
fingernails.  "How does that feel?"
     "Wonderful."  She felt something press against her instep and
gasped a moment later when she realized it was his mouth, kissing
her very softly.  Then she felt a second one against her other
foot.  This had to stop.  This had to stop now.  He was the
Captain, and there was probably something in the yullas that was
making him ... making him ... making him do what she had secretly
fantasized about him doing for years.
     "Tell me when you want me to stop," he whispered, still
stroking her feet tenderly and placing a hot kiss against her left
ankle.
     "Please don't," she whispered back.  A matching kiss found her
right foot, and she was lost.
     His fingers moved up the backs of her legs in a slow, almost
lazy manner, preceded by tiny kisses along the way.  He spent an
eternity stroking and tasting her knees, teasing the backs of them
until she moaned.  His eyes darted up to hers from time to time,
filled with fire that grew like magic in the night.
     His kisses became more urgent now, and she trembled beneath
them.  His fingers moved ahead of his mouth, sliding her legs
further apart, and she tried not to tense up and felt herself doing
it anyway.
     "Do you want this?" he breathed against her inner thigh.
     "I've always wanted this," she responded, stroking his ear
with her thumb, then moving her fingertips to the fine hairs at his
nape as his head moved a few inches forward.
     Soft wet lips merged with warm probing ones, and she sighed
deeply, happily, wondering whether to scream or laugh.  The tip of
his tongue brushed against her outer layers, giving long loving
caresses to the sensitive folds.  His fingers moved into the game,
pulling her open.  She felt one long index finger gently push
against her slick clitoris and her legs began trembling.  His hot
breath brought another liquid rush from within her, which he
smoothed around with a firm wet tongue as if frosting a cake of her
with her own sweetness.
     "Please," she gasped.  "Please.  I need you."  She felt him
pull away, and could not help the feeling of loss as he did.  He
stood, and she noticed how uncomfortable his pants were becoming
for him.  Still sitting, she grasped the bottom of the dress
uniform, pulling it just high enough to reach the catch of his
pants and loosen it quickly.  Then she stood.
     Without words, they took hands and moved until their foreheads
were touching once more.  As if moving to the music again, they 
turned slightly, rocking slowly, until she found her back against a
bulkhead.  He pulled her awful skirt up as she tugged at his pants,
sliding her hands down to reach the warm thing that she had longed
to see and hold and feel within her for so long.  She pulled him
free of his trousers.
     In rhythm with the music in their minds, they rocked their
bodies together and began swaying in time with the heartbeat of the
ship.  The wall scraped against the back of her gown, and the
material rustled like leaves in a sacred forest moving in an
ancient groove of their own.  His lips found hers and pressed
softly to them.  As he slid deeper into her, his tongue probed the
recesses of her mouth, and slowly at first, then more confidently,
she returned the teasing movement inside his own, reveling in the
taste of her other lips on his breath.
     His breathing was labored now, and his eyes blazing as he
moaned and thrust against her, pushing her into the wall in his
passion.  She met him, stroke for stroke, unable to cry out yet but
yearning just the same.
     Then she felt it.  Unlike the short, hot burst that filled her
after her occasional fumblings in the lonely darkness, this was
different, deeper.  Her stomach filled with the fire in his eyes,
and an easy warmth spread through her radiating to the ends of her
tingling toes.  A tiny moan escaped her and she was at peace.
     He grunted moments later, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and
his voice was torn from him in a name.
     Not hers.
     Oh, she knew it well enough, knew the bright young face that
accompanied it, the warm smile that part of her had hated before
and now would always despise.  She knew that name, and in her soul
she felt a clock strike midnight somewhere as all the magic ended
on the final stroke.
     He collapsed against her, spent, still holding her hands, but
moving them up to caress her shoulders, her hair.  Then he opened
his eyes as he pulled out of her.
     She hadn't been aware of her tears until he touched one and
wiped it away.
     "I hurt you.  My god, I'm sorry."
     She shook her head in the negative.  "No, no.  I'm fine."  She
smiled, but it felt brittle on her lips.  He saw.
     "You don't lie well."
     "Perhaps not, Captain, but then again, neither do you."  She
whispered the name he'd called her, and his eyes widened.
     "I am so sorry, darling."
     She pulled her hands away from him.  "Don't call me that.  Not
now, not ever.  You can't even call me by my name."  She smoothed
down her skirt and readjusted the bodice.  Before he could do
anything else to ruin her life, she was going to leave.
     She was at the door when he said, "Please don't go."
     "I have things to do.  Duties to attend.  I'm sure you can
sympathize.  Sir."
     He looked own to the floor.  "What about your shoes?"
     She shrugged.  "Keep them.  They don't fit my feet half so
well as I thought they would."  She opened the door and stalked
out, not losing her composure until she reached her own quarters
and could cry in peace.
 
 
 
     At the staff meeting the following morning, someone commented
on the First Officer's absence, but the question was quickly
silenced with a stern look from Captain Pike.
 
The End