by Christine Francis

  Endlessly turning, endlessly spinning, the lifeless lifepod hurdled through space.  Inside,  one Requiem after another played to an emptiness, dark and complete.  Nothing stirred; not even the cobwebs that hung in the same place they grew long ago, before the last breath of atmosphere was leeched out into space.  As the eternal tomb continued to tumble, starlight caught the occasional shard of ice and lent the strange qualities of light and life to the awful mausoleum.  Death reigned here.

  And yet, beneath the two frozen coffins that lay side by side, a small red light had begun blinking.  It had started over forty hours ago, indicating that multiple diagnostics programs were running, in preparation to bring certain systems online.  Now, one by one, more indicator lights blinked on.  A thick mist rolled out of vents, and across a floor now possessing false gravity.  Sconces in the wall behind the coffins slowly began to glow, increasing their light until they flickered like flames.  As warmth and light increased,  a strange sound could be heard in that place of dreary melodies balanced against the perpetual silence of space.  It was the sound of breathing.

  A tiny "ting!" sounded, and the lids of the coffins creaked open.  At first, nothing.  Then, coughing.  Then, in a rush and rustle sounding all the world like raven's wings, two forms arose.

  "We're alive,"  one spoke flatly, as if disappointed.

  "We could still be hit by an asteroid,"  the other suggested, with a glimmer of hope.

  "The eternal optimist,"  the first chided; then spared a small smile at her own wit.  "Come, Pugsley.  Let's find out where and when we are."

  "Sure, Wednesday,"  Pugsley grinned, climbing out of his coffin.

..........

  "Two lifeforms,"  Data reported about the lifepod.  "readings indicate they are newly awakened from cryogenic sleep."

  "Cryogenic...?"  Jean Luc Picard leaned forward.  As an archeologist, he was interested in all things old.  What centuries old culture did these beings awaken from?  What new insights to history could they give?  "Tractor beam.  Put it in shuttle bay two."  He hit his comm badge, frowning slightly.  "Doctor Crusher, a medical team to shuttle bay two.  Lifepod containing beings formerly in cryogenic suspension."

  >>Human?<<  Beverly Crusher's voice asked.

  Picard looked questioningly at Data, who nodded.  "Yes.  I'll meet you there.  Picard, out."  Rising from his chair, he glanced around.  "Data, Commander Riker, with me.  Lieutenant Worf, you have the conn."

  They rose, and accompanied him to shuttle bay two.

.........

  "Maybe they're flesh-eating bug-men, with acid for blood?"  Pugsley suggested, hopefully.

  "Don't be such a child, Pugsley."  Wednesday stood glumly at the view port, as the pod was brought to rest and the shuttle bay doors enclosed them.  The bay was brightly lit, and spotlessly clean.  Her heart fairly pounded with excitement and anticipation in the face of the unknown, but her face remained as impassive as ever.  This was the last moment of possible happiness, before reality disappointed her once again.  It was the same as always.  First, her marriage.  The wedding had been stunning.  The groom's mother had actually committed suicide *during* the ceremony.  A twister interrupted the service, and had torn half the old desecrated chapel away.  Disturbed, a flock of bats attacked the guests and managed to infect no less than twenty three of them with rabies.  Of course, after an amazingly wondrous debacle like that, how could the marriage itself do anything *but* disappoint?  Still, Wednesday had hoped.  Luckily, her practiced skills with poison made divorce unnecessary.

  And so, she had returned to the only life she knew.  At first, with Pugsley away on his third marriage and Pubert in college, she was quite happy watching grandmama shrivel and her parents grow old and wrinkled.  But of course, Pugsley came back.  Then married again.  Then came back.  Then married.  Then back.  Then...  And when grandmama died, and mother and father went away to travel, and Lurch found a new career as a flesh-flick beefcake stud, and Pubert launched his career in forensic gynecology, Wednesday grew bored and miserable.  Alas, though, not even that could last.  So when NASA began selling cryo-pods, it seemed the best option.  Since Pugsley was on the rebound again, it was easy to convince him to come along.

  Now, in the moment before reality was destined to give her yet another disappointment, Wednesday closed her eyes and slowly pressed her fingers against the Plexiglas until the nails bent satisfyingly backward.  With a sharp gasp, she savored the moment, then opened her eyes.  Yes, once more, life was a giggling lunatic with a heart of ice.  "They're human,"  she informed her brother.

  "They could be cannibals,"  Pugsley shrugged, peering over his sister's shoulder.

  Wednesday spared him a pitying look, solemnly shaking her head.

.........

  Once the "patients" were removed and taken to sickbay, Picard and Riker inspected the craft.

  "Looks like they were pretty sure they wouldn't survive the trip,"  Riker observed.

  "No, there's something more.  Good Lord!"

  "What is it?"  Riker continued to poke around.

  Picard blew the dust off a book he'd pulled from a shelf.  "Poe.  First edition.  Have you any idea how rare these are, Number One?"

  Rather than answer, Riker let out a sharp yip.

  "What is it?!"  Picard turned to see.

  A pale Riker closed the lid of an iron maiden, blocking the view with his body.  "Th-that's not a replica.  And it's occupied."

  Picard half-way sneered.  "Obviously, a museum piece.  Apparently, these two were avid art collectors.  Imagine the historic value of these artifacts!"

  "Sir,..."  Riker began, peering closely at a small display case on the wall.  Suddenly, he sprang back with a cry.  "The-th-th-...!"

  "Spit it out, Will!"  Picard commanded, peering closely at a tapestry.  The scene there, he believed, depicted the fate of Joan of Arc.

  Riker eyed the display mistrustfully.  Surely, those couldn't be *real* thumbs in those thumb screws, encased so carefully in Lucite.  "Never mind.  I think I'll go see if Data's found out who they are, yet."

  "Yes, all right."  Picard waved Riker off, going over every artifact with his tricorder.  He promised himself he would catalog and identify each and every treasure.

  Riker spared his captain one confused look, then left; shuddering, as he went.

.........

  "Does the light *hurt* your eyes?"  Data asked the refugee who called herself Wednesday.

  "No,"  she answered.  "I wouldn't say anything, if it did.  Consider it a matter of... esthetics."

  "Ah,"  Data nodded, with sudden comprehension.  He ordered a fifteen percent decrease in light.  "Better?"

  Wednesday peered at the pale, jerky, man.  "I suppose," she conceded.  "So.  Tell me about Earth.  Is it worth going back to?"

  "Oh, I should say so,"  Data assured her.  "Pollution, disease, and poverty have been virtually eradicated.  It is nothing like the world you knew.  Imagine a world with almost no pain or suffering."

  "Stop!"  Wednesday commanded, her eyes wide with horror.  Suddenly, grief overtook her and she began to sob.

  "There, there!"  Data sat beside the woman, placing his arm around her.

  "What are you doing?!"  Wednesday demanded.

  "Comforting you,"  Data explained, withdrawing his arm.  "Do you not wish to be consoled?"

  Wednesday's eyes narrowed briefly.  "You said you are an artificial person?"

  "I assure you, I *am* able to comprehend, and to some extent experience, human emotion.  I am capable of a certain degree of empathy."

  "Yes, yes,"  she waved that off, her mind turning.  "And you say you are much stronger than a normal person?"

  "I am,"  Data agreed, a little confused.

  Wednesday smiled a little.  "Then by all means, please do comfort me."

  Data was still confused, but put his arm back around the woman.  "Like this?"

  "Harder,"  she said, then encouraged him to hold her tighter, still.

  Data continued to increase the pressure of his embrace, until he perceived the strain in her voice.  "I do not think the tensile strength of your bones can tolerate much more pressure,"  he advised, but it was too late.

  Wednesday Addams had passed out; a grimace of pain upon her blissful face.

.........

  "Oh!"  Counselor Troi had only just entered sickbay, when she found herself backing right back out.  The mind of the man before her was the most shockingly repugnant she'd ever encountered.  And when his eyes finished crawling over her, and his mouth peeled back in a smile, Deanna Troi found herself torn between going stark raving mad, and vomiting up everything she'd ever eaten in her life.  "Oh!"  she repeated, and fled for her very life.

  "What was *that* about?"  Beverly Crusher walked back into the room, carrying a tray full of supplements, nutrients, and inoculations.

  "Damned, if I know,"  Pugsley said, a sly grin on his face.  "You say she reads minds?"

  Beverly smiled, setting down her tray and picking up an injector.  "That's an overly simple way of putting is, but, yes.  Could you roll up your sleeve?"

  "Like this?"  Pugsley adroitly snatched up one of the doctor's hands, and slowly (sensuously) pushed up her sleeve.  As he pulled his hand away, he let his nails lightly trace the inside of her arm.

  Beverly shuddered and gulped, then nodded.  "Like that,"  she affirmed.

  Pugsley smiled and let the doctor have her hand back.  With a slight flourish his father had spent a week teaching him, he removed a single cufflink and set it aside.  Then he rolled up his sleeve, and held his bare arm out to her.

  Snapping out of a stare, Beverly got to work.  "Pugsley is an... unusual name.  Is it a nickname?"

  "It's a family name.  Not one of the good ones, of course, but I've grown accustomed to it."  He glanced around.  "Are you sure there aren't any monster bug-men, with acid for blood?"

  Beverly laughed.  "Not today.  Of course, this is space.  Tomorrow we could run into *anything*."

  Pugsley joined her laughter.  "Great!"  he exclaimed, then remembered his training.  "I mean,"  he amended, taking her hand again and making his eyes smolder (he remembered how excited he was, when his father said he would teach him how to do that.  Of course, he was excited because he'd taken it literally, and thought his eyeballs really would smolder).  "What a wonderful and exciting life you must lead."

  Beverly shrugged, coyly.  "It can be, sometimes.  We have our share of boredom, though."

  "A creature as lovely as you, should *never* be forced to endure boredom!"  Pugsley sprang up, full of outrage.  "Where is this captain of yours?  I shall demand that he improve conditions aboard this ship, immediately!"

  "Believe me,"  Beverly recovered quickly from gawking, and urged him back on to the exam table.  "With the kind of excitement we get, a little boredom is welcome, now and then.  Please sit still, until I've finished."

  Pugsley froze in place.  "As you wish,"  he said, through clenched teeth.

  Sparing a moment to roll her eyes, the good doctor resumed her doctoring.

.........

  Wednesday opened her eyes, and stared into the eyes of the android.  Here, at last, was a man who could make her happy!  He would do whatever she said, and when she was tired of him, she could simply switch him off!  Oh, the agony that was held, in the promise of those golden eyes!

  "Are you all right?"  Data asked.

  "Kiss me,"  she commanded, tipping her head back and waiting.

  Data hesitated, then shrugged and pressed his lips against hers.  She pulled him closer and closer, kissing him harder and harder.  Data's oral sensors instantly detected the presence of blood, when his teeth managed to puncture one of her lips, but she held him so tightly it was hard to break away without hurting her.  Again, he asked "Are you all right?"

  "I think I am in love,"  she whispered in husky misery.  "Pinch me; I must be dreaming."

  "I assure you, you are not."

  Wednesday's eyes flared wide with anger.  "I said, pinch me!"

  Obeying without thought, Data pinched her arm.

  Moaning with agonized pleasure, she demanded "More!  Harder!"

  Sitting up and using both hands, Data began pinching and twisting her flesh.  The way she writhed and groaned seemed like both torment and ecstasy, but since she kept asking for more, Data assumed it was more the latter than the former.  Hands moving in a blur, he bruised her skin at an astonishing rate.

  Wednesday reached up and loosened the clasp in her long black hair, letting it fan out on the floor like a spider's web.  The pain was exquisite!  No man alive, could do for her what this one did!  As she twisted and writhed, a feverish glow began to light her brow.  The race was on.  Which would she lose first; her control, or her consciousness?

  "What the devil is going on, here!"  Will Riker demanded, certain he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing.

  Data froze, then looked up.  "Sir, I..."  He looked back down, at the impish delight on Wednesday's face.

  "Is he in trouble?"  she asked Riker, without taking her eyes off Data.

  "I want some answers, mister!"  Riker ignored her question.

  "If he is to be punished,"  she went on, "might... *I* do it?"

  Riker was too shocked to be appalled, but he gave it a good try.  By now, Data was on his feet and helping Wednesday to hers.  "I'm still waiting for an answer."

  Data had not one idea of how to answer.  How could he explain something he didn't understand, himself?  "Sir,"  he had to admit, "I have no idea what was going on here."

  "What about you?"  Riker asked Wednesday.

  She coyly lowered her face, then raised her eyes.  "Oh, I couldn't,"  she said, with the hint of a smile.  "It's simply too wicked, for words."

  Riker's eyes bulged and mouth gaped, but it didn't help him understand any better.  Pointing a finger at Data, he waggled it in silence for a moment.  "I want a full report, in fifteen minutes!"  he demanded, spun around, and fled.

  Head cocked to one side, Data could not take his eyes off this new and strange woman.  "I have never met anyone like you,"  he admitted.

  "I know,"  she agreed, and took his hand in hers.

........

  "But seriously,"  Picard smiled at the man from the lifepod.  "how did you ever amass such a stunning collection?"  Without even looking, he slid a small dish across his desk.

  Pulling a lighter from his vest pocket, Pugsley lit his cigar and used the offered dish as an ash tray.  "Most of it's been in the family for years,"  he explained.  "Although, I was able to acquire a few pieces on my own.  Almost none of it's Wednesdays; she never cared for collecting, except for torture devices."

  "You must have been quite wealthy."

  "I suppose."  Pugsley puffed contentedly, ignoring the way the smoke was sucked out of the room to be sanitized.  "Am I still?"

  Picard braced himself a little.  "I'm afraid not.  Things have changed.  The economic system isn't anything like the one you knew."

  "So I'm penniless?"  Pugsley grinned around his cigar.

  "In a manner of speaking,"  Picard squirmed, "yes.  However, you won't be poor, either.  Nobody is, on Earth."

  "Oh."  Pugsley's cigar dipped when he frowned.  "Never mind.  We Addamses have always survived.  We'll find a way."

  "That is certain.  Someone will be assigned to you, and your transition into the twenty fourth century will be as painless as possible."

  Pugsley flinched.  "Boy, you really know how to pour it on,"  he said, admiringly.

  Picard's assuring smile slipped a little, but he let the comment pass.  "We won't dock at a starbase, for at least a week.  Do you have any hobbies with which to pass the time?"

  "Don't suppose you could safari on a space ship."

  "Actually,..." Picard was thinking about the holo-deck.  Something like that, though, might be too much, too soon.  "Anything else?"

  "No shark fishing, either.  Nor fencing-"

  "Ah-ha!"  Picard slapped his desk with one hand.  "Why, I haven't crossed swords with a live partner in well over a year!  Sir, it would do me great pleasure, if-"

  "Say no more!"  Pugsley grinned broadly.  "Too bad I don't have a glove, or I'd slap you where you sit!"

  Picard laughed, and Pugsley joined him.  Suddenly, Riker burst in.

  "Sir, you're never going to believe-"  Riker panted.

  "Not now, Number One.  Can't you see I'm busy?"

  Riker stared at the captain in disbelief.  "Sir?"

  Picard was on his feet, leading Pugsley to the door.  "Mister Addams and I are going to the recreation deck, and we're not to be disturbed for anything less than an emergency; do you understand?"  Without waiting for and answer, they left Riker alone with his unspoken protests.

..........

  "Oh!"  Troi grabbed two handfulls of hair, and stared in horror at the woman before her.  "Oh!"  she repeated, gasping with fear.  Balanced on the edge of a scream, she fled once again.

  "What's *her* problem?"  Wednesday asked Data.

  Data pondered the question, then shrugged.  "I simply don't have enough information with which to form an opinion on that matter."

  "Ah."  Wednesday nodded.  "So tell me again about this... hollow deck?"

  "Holo-deck,"  he corrected her, and launched once more into an explanation.

.......

  "Monsters!"  Deanna Troi clung to William Riker's tunic.  "Oh, Will!  They're both the most appalling monsters!  We *have* to get rid of them!  I... Oh, I can still feel their slimy touch!"

  "I've told Worf to increase speed, but if they're as bad as you say, maybe we shouldn't take them to starbase."

  "I don't know how much longer I can stand it!  We have *got* to get rid of them!"

  "Deanna, what am I supposed to do?  I-"

  >>Bridge to Commander Riker,<<  Worf's voice came out of thin air.

  "Riker, here."  He tapped his comm badge.

  >>Unidentified ship approaching and hailing.<<

  "On my way."  Patting Troi's shoulder, he assured her he wouldn't forget her problem, and headed for the bridge.

.......

  "Count?"  Riker asked, a little confused.  "Of what province?"

  The pale face on the screen smiled charmingly.  "I am afraid the title is merely an indulgence I allow myself.  The realm my family once ruled, no longer exists.  But back to my request; my crew is virtually sick of seeing the same faces, day after day.  They beg for... fresh blood.  Could we not arrange a visit?"

  Riker sighed, squirming a little.  "Well, Count Dragul; we *were* on our way somewhere, but it wasn't exactly *urgent*..."

  Dracula smiled again.  "May I consider that an invitation?"

  Thinking to himself that it would be nice to have a *normal* person visit, for a change, he answered "Sure.  Come alongside."  To himself, he added that Deanna would just have to get over it.  He was a little tired of being her crying shoulder, anyway.

........

  At a hastily arranged reception, their eyes met.  A man and a women, both intimate with the art of suffering, both brimming with the promise of endless pain and agony, both *made* for torment.

  "Come, Pugsley,"  she said, as if in a trance.  "We're going."
 

AFTERWARD:

  "Tell me you'll be in agony, and your heart is shattered like glass; even if it's not true."

  Data gave Wednesday a quick and painful squeeze, and dutifully said "I'll be in agony.  My heart is shattered like glass."

  A small smile played on her lips.  "Damn,"  she sighed, "and just when I had you trained so well."

  "Darling, you are making me jealous,"  Dracula growled playfully.

  Wednesday looked over her shoulder at him, still smiling.  "So, suffer."

  The growl deepened to a snarl.

  "Save it for the honeymoon, you two!"  Pugsley entered, a shapely demoness on each arm.

  "Take care of yourself, Pugsley, old man!"  Picard followed him into the shuttle bay.

  "You, too, Jean Luc.  Say good-bye to Beverly for me, will you?"

  "Beverly?"  Picard's smile slipped a little.

  "Farewell, friends!"  Dracula called out, waving at those who had come to see them off; some of which bore secret wounds that itched as they healed.

  The crew of the Enterprise saw off their new friends, and returned to work.

  "What should we do with the lifepod?"  Riker asked, glad everything was getting back to normal.

  "I want to study the artifacts Pugsley left,"  Picard said, "but we'll no doubt take it to a museum, eventually.  Have it taken into storage bay three, and sealed."

  "Aye, sir."

  But far below, inside the lifepod, a creaking sound was heard.  The door to the iron maiden swung open, two arms clad in ancient bandages rose up, and something horrible came to life...

THE END

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