Crushed!
--------
by Andrew Nellis
a.k.a. the Poison Pen
copyright 1997
Something wasn't right. Ship's Counsellor Deanna Troi of the Starship Enterprise frowned at the vidscreen and the columns of numbers it was currently displaying. The data suggested that the subject's stress levels had dropped back down to the optimal range. A certain amount of self-correction was normal, but this was well beyond what she had expected. In fact, had she not noticed it herself, the Computer would have brought it to her attention.
The subject was Doctor Beverly Crusher, the Ship's Surgeon, and under most circumstances Deanna would have celebrated the return to normalcy. In this case her professional instincts set red alert klaxons whooping in her head.
It hadn't been long since Doctor Crusher's ill-fated relationship with the alien symbiote. The body the symbiote, an ambassador, had been inhabiting had collapsed and died. The new body the ambassador had been implanted into had been all too female, leaving Beverly in an emotional and sexual quagmire.
As a friend, Deanna would have felt herself compelled to come to Beverly's assistance, but it was more than that. Part of the job of a Ship's Counsellor was maintaining the sexual equalibrium of its crew. A healthy sexuality was crucial to most entities' performance. In some cases it could even be a matter of life and death. A Vulcan unexpectedly entering the pon farr was a threat to everyone around. A Deltan deprived of sexual contact would eventually sicken and die; chastity was a life-threatening illness for them.
Deanna provided not only psychological counselling as Ship's Counsellor, but sexual as well. Often a sexual dysfunction could be treated through the use of the holodeck, but not always. It was sometimes necessary for the Counsellor to take an active hand in things, reading her patient's emotions while leading them personally through a sexual encounter.
In theory, the solution to Beverly's problem was simple enough. Deanna would need only to make Beverly comfortable with the idea of lesbian sexuality. It had been centuries since any sort of stigma had attached to same-gender human relationships. Deanna would lead Beverly through as many sessions of lesbian sex as were necessary to allow the Doctor to pursue a relationship with the ambassador.
In practice, however, it had been a disaster. There had been only one session, and Beverly had nearly balked. When Deanna had finally convinced her and the two women were naked in each other's arms, Deanna had felt the waves of revulsion as a physical blow. Beverly, ashamed of her emotional reaction, had become stiff and unresponsive. The love-making that followed was mechanical and joyless.
The sessions had stopped after that, and relations between the two women became strained. Even Captain Picard had remarked on it, to Deanna's embarassment. Had it been a personal problem only, Deanna might have gone to Ryker for advice, but professional confidentiality demanded her silence.
And now, when Deanna had least expected it, there had been an abrupt thaw in relations. Beverly was all smiles, and Deanna's Betazoid empathy assured her that it wasn't an act. Somehow Beverly had found her own solution to her troubles. That worried the Counsellor. When emotional matrices shifted that rapidly, it suggested some sort of major personality disorder.
"Computer," said Deanna at last, leaning back in her chair. "Chart and correlate all scheduled activities of subject: Crusher, Beverly with drops in stress levels greater than magnitude three. Output to speakers."
"Working," said the Computer. There was a brief pause. "Probability ninety-two percent of correlation between scheduled use of holodeck and drop in stress level. Probability seven percent of --"
"Thank you," said Deanna, cutting the Computer off. The holodeck, she mused. This would not be the first time she had encountered a crew member using the holodeck in a way that caused mental unbalance, but there were safety interlocks to prevent gross abuse. Furthermore, any attempt at grossly aberrent misuse would be automatically logged and reported to Deanna as Ship's Counsellor.
A sudden suspicion occured to Deanna. "No, she wouldn't," she said aloud. It would be... unprofessional. But the suspicion remained, and Deanna knew there was only one way she was going to put her mind to rest. Rising from her chair, she left her quarters in the direction of the holodeck.
The holodeck was empty when Deanna arrived, a small blessing because it meant she wouldn't have to explain what she was doing. Standing outside the closed entry doors, Deanna used the touch-panel on the wall to call up a list of Beverly Crusher's holodeck scenarios. Most were scenic: picnic grounds, a lakeshore, a mountaintop. A few were historical simulations on various planets. The rest were various types of simulated medical operations and experiments. There was nothing even faintly improper.
"Computer," said Deanna, "display full scenario data."
"Access denied," came the crisp reply from the Computer.
Deanna frowned deeply. "By what authority?"
"Medical priviledge. By authority of Ship's Surgeon Beverly Crusher."
So she did do it. Deanna took a deep breath. The Ship's Surgeon had the power to countermand even a direct order from the Captain if it was a matter of medical emergency. Her authority in such matters could not be questioned -- except under one specific condition. But to use such authority to hide a holodeck program was improper, bordering on outright abuse. Careers had been destroyed for less.
"Computer, this is Ship's Counsellor Deanna Troi," said Deanna. "Verify, please."
"Ship's Counsellor Deanna Troi, voiceprint match. Identity verified."
"Psychiatric override," said Deanna. She did not want to do this, but she had no choice. A psychiatric override could be used only when the Ship's Counsellor felt that a crew member was mentally unstable and an immediate risk to the entire ship. Such an override would be logged automatically, and could be erased only by the Captain. She would have to do some fast talking to explain it. But it gave her absolute authority over everyone, including the Ship's Surgeon.
"Override confirmed," said the computer.
"List all scenarios classified: medical," said Deanna.
"Scenario alpha-seven-Crusher. List ends."
Only one. That had to be it. "Computer, load scenario alpha-seven- Crusher and activate."
There was a very brief pause. "Scenario loaded and activated."
The doors to the holodeck slid open, and Deanna steeled herself for whetever she might find, then took a step inside. The doors closed behind her.
It seemed to be some kind of alien landscape. Around her were even, unnatural rows of cubic, stone-like structures. Most rose no higher than her ankles, though some reached as far as mid-shin. The sky was blue and earth-like overhead, but the horizon line was oddly distorted in a way that suggested a smaller sized planet than Earth or Betazed.
Deanna took a step, trying to avoid touching the cubic structures, and felt grit crunching underfoot. Despite her best efforts, she brushed against one of the structures and it toppled over, shattering into millions of pieces and a cloud of dust. It seemed to fall almost in slow motion.
Deanna frowned. This was not what she had been expecting at all, and wondered what exactly it was. "Computer, where am I?"
"Terra, city of Tokyo, circa 1975 Old Reckoning."
That couldn't be right. Deanna didn't know much about Terran history from that period, but she knew it didn't look like this.
Very faint sounds were now reaching Deanna's ears. Like the roar of the sea, or a large crowd, but with the volume lowered to almost nothing. Still frowning, she crouched down to look closer at the strange structures. She noticed that the whole ground seemed to be crawling, a mass of insectile motion. An involuntary shudder shook her, but she suppressed her disgust, knowing it was merely a simulation. At least they didn't seem particularly dangerous.
Why would Beverly design such a bizarre scenario, Deanna wondered. And more importantly, why would she want to hide it so desperately that she would risk her whole Starfleet career?
Her question was answered suddenly as Deanna bent down for a closer look at the creatures beneath her. At first they appeared to be mere specks, but Deanna forced her eyes to focus and she realized that some of the larger specks were mechanical in nature, tiny wheeled constructs. And then it hit her. She realized what the smaller specks were. They were people.
The shock of her discovery caused Deanna to overbalance, and she put out a hand to steady herself. For a brief instant she felt hundreds of miniscule people against the flesh of her palm, and then there was a small crunch as her weight came down. When Deana lifted her hand, her palm was covered in a faint smear of red, as was the ground where her hand had pressed.
Revulsion rose in Deanna's throat like bile. All around her now she could hear the sounds of panic and terror, millions of tiny voices crying out their fear. She stood and felt more things crunch under her foot. An involuntary step backward knocked over two of the structures, which she now knew to be office towers. And with every motion the carnage around her increased.
"Stop!" shouted Deanna, her hands over her ears. "Stop! End simulation!"
Everything vanished instantly, leaving only the blank walls and floor of the holodeck. Deanna took a minute to sit on the floor and recover her composure. It had all been too realistic. Even now she could still feel the wet heat of bloody gore on her hand.
This was what Beverly had been doing, this was the reason her stress levels had dropped. Deanna forced herself to think rationally. Okay, it was violent and macabre, but she was well aware that such fantasies were not uncommon. Terms floated through her head: macrophilia, God complex, podophilia. Even, and here her mind balked again, vorarephilia. If Beverly had come to her with this, they might have discussed it. It need not even be unhealthy. But to undermine regulations in order to hide such a fantasy revealed a festering obsession. Deanna knew she had to do something.
Climbing to her feet, Deanna brushed the concrete dust from her legs and left the holodeck for her quarters. Had she looked over her shoulder before the doors closed behind her, Deanna might have seen Q standing in the holodeck, smirking.
* * *
Deanna stood outside the doors of the holodeck. It had been a difficult couple of days. First the interrogation from Captain Picard over her use of the psychiatric override, then the constant internal tension she felt every time she saw Beverly. Deanna was only thankful that the Captain trusted her judgement and had not pressed her too hard. And he had agreed to erase the log entry, which took a great pressure from her mind. He would give her until the current mission to Tau-Alecto IV was completed to deal with whatever the problem was before he took an active hand in it.
It was only a few minutes before Beverly Crusher arrived. She was dressed in a two-piece bathing suit and looked surprised to see Deanna waiting for her. She slowed to a halt and blinked a couple of times. Deanna could feel wariness in Beverly.
"Deanna," said Beverly with a smile Deanna knew was false. "What are you doing here? If I knew you were coming I'd had reserved us a place at Chez Pierre's in Paris."
Deanna felt rising tension in the Doctor. "Beverly, I don't want you to be alarmed. There were some... abnormalities in your emotional profile so I did some checking. I think you know what I found."
"Oh God." Beverly's legs seemed to waver, and she put out a hand to steady herself. A wave of shame rushed out from her, crashing into Deanna's mental shields with a violent shock.
Deanna reached out to touch the reeling Ship's Surgeon. "Get away from me," hissed Beverly. Her shame and humiliation was being rapidly consumed in the swelling conflagration of her anger. "You. Had. No. Right!"
"I'm sorry, Beverly, I really am," said Deanna. "It's my duty, you know that better than anyone. Come on, let's go in and talk about this."
The holodeck doors hissed open and the two women entered, Deanna first and Beverly following. Deanna could feel the mounting rage in the woman behind her, the suppressed violence. She knew for certain, now, that Beverly needed help desperately.
"Computer," said Deanna, "simulation gamma-alpha-Troi."
The blank walls of the holodeck vanished and suddenly both women were in a replica of Sigmund Freud's office in Vienna, complete with a couch and the faint scent of cigar smoke. Deanna seated herself in the wooden swivel chair in front of the rolltop desk, and Beverly reluctantly sat on the edge of the sofa, her face hidden by her long red hair as she leaned forward, hands clasped under her chin.
"I'm so embarassed," said Beverly. "I-- I don't know what to say."
Deanna smiled reassuringly. "Beverly, you're not crazy. We all have our secret desires. A strong, vibrant fantasy life is healthy. The problem occurs when we try to hide it. The fantasies become darker, warped. They gain power over us. When did this all start?"
"I didn't even know I wanted something like... that," said Beverly, still unable to meet Deanna's eyes. "It was an accident. I wrote a scenario to tour ancient, twentieth-century Tokyo and I guess I made a mistake somewhere. Everything was so little. And I was so big. I almost erased it, but I thought it might be fun to... play with it a little bit. I liked it. A lot. I knew I had to hide what I was doing. I wasn't thinking straight."
Deanna nodded. "I understand. Beverly, I have a suggestion. Why don't we go through the scenario together. It will help me to understand this."
Beverly looked up, mortified. "Oh, I couldn't! It's so personal."
"For the time being I want you to think of me as your counsellor, not as your friend," said Deanna. She could order Beverly to do it as part of a psychiatric treatment, but Deanna didn't think their friendship would survive that. "You can stop the scenario at any time you like. Okay?"
Beverly looked away, then nodded, slowly.
"Good," said Deanna, smiling encouragingly. She stood. "Are you ready?"
The doctor nodded again and stood.
"Here we go," said Deanna. Her stomach was in knots as she thought about the carnage to come, but she forced her revulsion down and dropped a professional mask over her features. "Computer, load scenario alpha-seven-Crusher. Activate."
Freud's office vanished and was immediately replaced by the ankle-high rectangular structures of the miniature city.
The first thing Deanna noticed was a wave of powerful sexual excitement from Beverly. Though she was trying not to show it, Beverly was intensely aroused at the mere sight of the city and its tiny denizens. But more than that, Deanna caught a sudden blast of absolute blinding fear from all around her that nearly threw her from her feet.
"Uh! Beverly, something's wrong," said Deanna, staggering forward and planting her uniform boot into the middle of a busy intersection. The sudden monstrous spike of agony and mindless, gibbering terror that bloomed in Deanna's head like a blood-red flower made her clutch her head in pain. She threw back her head and screamed.
"Deanna! Deanna, what's wrong?" said Beverly. "Crusher to sick bay!"
Somewhere nearby, Q scowled and made an impatient gesture with his hand. Suddenly the pain stopped. Deanna had dropped to her knees in a smouldering heap of crushed apartment blocks. "No, I'm fine now, really." She rubbed her forehead lightly, a confused expression on her face. "I don't know what was wrong. It might have been a psychic feedback loop. I expected the sensation and it fed back on itself. Yes, that must be it."
"Sick bay," came the voice from nowhere. "Dr. Crusher, is there a problem?"
Beverly looked over at Deanna. The Counsellor was a little green, but seemed otherwise okay. And she managed a faint smile. "No, false alarm," said Beverly, relieved. "Crusher out."
It felt to Deanna as if her head was full of fog. The usual emotional background noise of the crew was muted to almost nothing. The only thing she could sense strongly was Beverly's concern and, beneath that, a thread of sexual excitement that had never entirely vanished. The mysterious explosion of fear and pain she had sensed was gone, if it had ever really been there.
Deanna took Beverly's proferred hand and pulled herself upright, trying to ignore the crunching noises beneath her boots. An area a dozen city blocks wide had been devastated when she fell, and smoke spiralled up from the wreckage. "Wow," said Beverly, looking at the damage. "That's fantastic."
The thread of sexual excitement from Beverly had grown into a thick stream. Deanna looked at the wreckage and felt only faint nausea.
"Watch this," said Beverly with an evil grin. She bent over and hunted around, crushing buildings indiscriminately beneath her bare feet as she walked. When she found what she was looking for, she called Deanna over. The Counsellor picked her way through the buildings, uncomfortably aware of the cacophony of crunching noises under her boots.
What Beverly was pointing at was a large public square of some kind, and it was thronged with people. Deanna forced herself to watch as Beverly slowly lowered her bare foot until it hovered a scant inch over the crowd. Then, with a wicked grin, she pressed down. The pavement cracked under the weight of Beverly's foot, and a grotesque red pulp oozed out from her instep.
"Yessss," said Beverly, closing her eyes as she dragged her foot across the square, leaving a long trail of gore. "Mmmm," she said, reaching between her legs and rubbing herself through the material of her swimsuit.
The level of sheer animal lust coming off Beverly was astounding. In fact, Deanna found herself unwillingly aroused by it, so powerful was the sensation. She had rarely felt such intensity outside of a Vulcan experiencing the pon farr. "Tell me what you're feeling, Beverly," she said.
"Power," said Beverly in a throaty voice. "Look at them all. Tiny little people, all terrified. Of us. Of me. Hundreds of thousands and millions of them, and I don't have to treat a single one of them. I don't have to worry about their health or their safety, and they don't have to do anything... except squash." The last she said with a leer as she crushed a mob of fleeing people with the ball of her foot.
Beverly dropped to her hands and knees, demolishing dozens of square blocks of buildings. "I want them on me," said Beverly, "I want them in me. I want to feel their little bodies as they explode. I want to to feel their hot, steaming, crushed remains all over me. Mmmmm."
Deanna could only stand and watch, stunned, as Beverly lowered herself to the ground and stretched, cat-like, on the fleeing crowds. Using her hands as massive scoops, Beverly lifted hundreds of tiny people to her body and crushed them against her flesh, leaving damp red patches. Her legs, her thighs, her breasts, her face; all were dyed crimson with the blood of thousands.
When her whole body was slick with sweat and blood, Beverly pulled off her gore-crusted bathing suit. Seconds later, hundreds of screaming people were mashed against her nipples and rubbed vigorously into her mons and its swollen lips. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, and her eyes did not seem to focus.
Deanna was transfixed. Like a butterfly on a board, Beverly's manic lust held her pinned in place. The roar of Beverly's arousal filled her head, swelled and dampened her labia, forced her nipples into arousal that was almost painful. "Beverly?" she said in a whisper.
Beverly looked up at the voice, but there was little in her eyes except need and sadism. "Deanna," she growled, dropping a screaming handful of gnat-sized victims into her mouth and chewing with much evident pleasure. Her lips were dyed a deep, deep red.
Without even knowing what she was doing, Deanna stared into Beverly's eyes, feeling her own reflected lust, and began stripping. When her lush body was bare, her clothes discarded in a pile atop several blocks of office towers, she lowered herself to her knees.
The two women stared at each other with unabashed desire. Their lips came together, their breasts pressed against the other's, and Deanna felt Beverly's tongue creep into her mouth. Beverly's tongue tasted of salt and blood and raw meat. Vaguely, Deanna felt Beverly's hands crushing handfuls of something hot and wet into her large, soft breasts. Deanna's expert fingers sought the places that she knew brought pleasure, and Beverly groaned into Deanna's mouth.
In an explosion of flying concrete both women fell to the ground in a hot embrace. Tiny, helpless things died by the thousands under their naked bodies. Their kiss broke apart, and Deanna's tongue began a systematic exploration of Beverly's skin. The breasts, the large, turgid nipples, the flat belly, the red-furred lips that gaped wetly between Beverly's legs. Deanna's tongue burrowed inside, seeking out the swollen clitoris with practiced skill. Tiny bodies, some still squirming, adhered to Deanna's tongue and were swallowed along with Beverly's freely-flowing juices.
"Yes," moaned Beverly, her face contorted with ecstasy. Her questing hands tore whole towers from their roots and crushed them against her breasts, spilling rubble and bodies down her sweat-glistened skin. Deanna's tongue was driving her to peaks she hadn't known since Jack had died. "Yes, yes, yes, YES!"
Deanna felt Beverly's orgasm as her own, one of the benefits of Betazoid empathy. It was a long, apocalyptic explosion of vibrating nerve endings drawn taut like the strings of a violin, and the force of it was enough to cause both women to scream counterpoint in a duet of lust.
The lovers laid side-by-side in the huge smashed-down area they had demolished with their love-making, stroking each other, and placing little kisses on each other's bodies. Absently, Deanna realized that she had succeeded in breaking Beverly's aversion to same-gender sex and felt quietly proud.
After a while, Beverly climbed to her feet and, with an impish grin, began systematically stomping across the city. Deanna sat up on one cocked elbow and watched, bemused. A few of the tiny little people seemed to have survived everything so far, and Deanna crushed some idly with her thumb. She could see how something like that could be enjoyable, even stimulating. "Take that you little buggers," she muttered under her breath as she squashed a few more with the tip of her index finger. Out of curiosity she gathered a few together, pinched between her thumb and forefinger and dropped them into her mouth. She chewed them and found they tasted pretty much like salt. She wondered how the holodeck would know how something like that should taste, or even if it did know. Perhaps this was merely its best guess.
When most of the city was in ruins, Beverly came back and dropped to the ground beside Deanna. "Well," said Beverly with a sly smile, "now you know why I like this."
Deanna nodded. She noted that Beverly's feet were covered in gore to the ankles, and playfully licked one of her toes clean. "I might even ask you for a copy of the scenario for myself. For therapeutic purposes," she added quickly.
Beverly laughed. Her mood had brightened considerably. "Deanna, let me tell you, you have one hell of a tongue."
"Ryker never complained," said Deanna, winking.
The women gathered up their blood-spattered clothes and dressed. "I'm on bridge duty next watch," said Deanna. "See you there?"
Beverly nodded. "End simulation," she said. The massive smoking destruction vanished and she was standing in the blank walls of the holodeck. Both women left for their quarters and the lights automatically dimmed. No one heard Q's mocking laughter.
* * *
"We are being hailed from the planet's surface, Captain," said Lieutenant-Commander Data.
"Onscreen," said Picard.
The doors to the turbo-lift opened and Beverly Crusher stepped out. She exchanged a look with Counsellor Troi and went to stand beside her. The red alert had come just as the women had arrived at their quarters, and both had quickly changed before making their way to the bridge.
"I am having some difficulty," said Data. "The signal is very weak and there is a great deal of interference."
"Captain," said Lieutenant Worf, stony-faced. "Sensors indicate the capital city has sustained considerable damage."
Picard looked over at his Number One, Commander Ryker. Both men were grim. Neither had expected this kind of excitement waiting for them at Tau-Alecto IV. The distress signal had come just as the Enterprise was entering the system, bringing the ship to full alert.
"Bonjour mon Capitain," said Q, winking into existance wearing the uniform of a Starfleet admiral.
"Q!" roared Picard, leaping to his feet. "What do you have to do with all of this?"
Q smirked in the way he knew infuriated Picard. "Hello, Counsellor," he said mockingly to Deanna, ignoring the outraged Captain. Q's eyes narrowed and he grinned evilly. "Feeling a little muddle-headed? Here, maybe I can help."
Deanna opened her mouth to protest, but Q snapped his fingers and suddenly her mind was buried under an avalanche of pain and terror, an invasion so strong and so sudden she felt as if she might lose her sanity. Deanna gasped and clutched at her temples with her fingers. The fog that had clouded her empathic sense had lifted.
"What have you done!" thundered Picard, his face crimson with fury.
"Ta-ta, mon Capitain," said Q. "Oh, by the way, Doctor... Crusher, you seem to have some dirt on the bottom of your boot." He winked at Beverly, and disappeared in a flash of light.
"I have the signal," said Data.
A face, bloodied and wild with fear appeared on the main viewer. The clothes and badges of office identified the man as a member of the planet's ruling council. "Enterprise! Enterprise do you hear me? Come in, Enterprise."
Picard pulled ineffectually at his uniform shirt and sat down in his chair, still simmering. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise. We are receiving you. Please explain your situation."
"Horrible," sobbed the man. "Horrible! Millions dead. There were two, it was horrible!" His voice was nearly incoherent with fear.
"Two what? What was horrible?" said Picard, leaning forward in frustration. "Mister Data, are there any readings indicating some sort of attack?"
"Negative, Captain," said Data, his fingers flying over the console faster than human eyes could follow.
The man on the viewer noticed Beverly for the first time, and for a second his eyes seemed to bug out of his head. He gave a single, piercing scream and the viewer went dead. Deanna moaned softly, cradling her head in her hands.
"They have stopped transmitting," said Data.
"Data," said Ryker, "can you give us a visual on that city?"
"Affirmative, sir."
An aerial view of the ravaged city appeared on the main viewer.
Beverly's blood turned ice cold. Because she recognized that city. And because there, in the city's main square, picked out in great, gory swaths of deep crimson, was a single great footprint more than fifty yards long. Her footprint.
And somewhere in the depths of space, Q laughed and laughed and laughed.
Giantess World
