I am standing where I have been all day, shackled to a post in a large
yard with many other slaves shackled as I am. I have long lost my
tunic—taken from me before my wrist bracelet was used to secure
me to a tether on the post. The sun is shining down, but it is too
yellow and too cool for me to be comfortable in. I wonder if I will
ever get warm again. Humans crowd around me and poke and prod me, some
opening my mouth to look at my teeth and tongue, some fingering my
muscles, and sometimes my sex. It is all done very clinically, to each
of hundreds of slaves, and might be more intrusive, but I cannot help
my distaste of being treated like so much livestock, though logically,
this is what I am now. I do not show my discomfort, even when they prod
me in the hollows of my back where my chenesi lie. Inactive as they
will be until my Time, I normally do not notice them, but it is
discomfiting to have them handled.
Most of them poke at my
tattoos, and ask me questions about my training. I answer submissively,
but tersely, pretending a docility I must cultivate.
Sometime in late afternoon, my tether is untied, and I am led to the
platform where so many others have gone before me. I see the one who
directly preceded me—a green Orion male, who is placed in a
coffle of other strong humanoids. None of them look happy and it is
likely they will be doing some unpleasant labor. But the auctioneer
extols my virtues as a house servant. Since I have no actual
experience, I can only hope I do not disappoint my buyer.
But bidding seems brisk, and although I do not see the winner, as it is
done by padd onto a screen behind me, I am led off to a holding area to
be retied to another shackle. In a few minutes I see an attractive and
young Vulcan woman walk to the human in charge, bend her head, and hand
a padd to him. He hands it back after pressing his thumb to it, and my
leash is untied and given to her to hold.
"Come," she says, and I dutifully follow, ignoring the pebbles that cut
my feet as I move through the auction site. We arrive soon at a parking
area and she takes me to an aircar which stands unoccupied. The door
opens when she pushes her bracelet against it, and she seats me on a
plastic-spread seat, presumably to keep the dust I carry off it, as
there is no such plastic on hers, clean as she is.
I shift a little, as my bare skin sticks to the plastic and I look out
the window next to where I am seated , though there is nothing to see
but more parked hovercars.
"They tell me your name is Spock. I am T'Pel." She smiles, a thing most
Vulcans will not do, and I lift an eyebrow at her. I will not smile
back, though I do not wish to appear unfriendly."You're very lucky,
Spock. You've been bought by the owners of one of the better working
plantations on the planet, and if the young Master did not need a
personal body servant, you'd probably be going to the fields. I'm
personal maid to our Mistress. I have lived here all my life."
"Your family is here?"
"My parents died in an accident when I was a small child. I was raised
by one of the field slaves, a Tanugan female, until I was eight, when
my Mistress decided to train me to serve her. I've been her maid ever
since. I am lucky, too."
As she chatters at me, she buckles me into a harness and has me place
my bracelet against a slot which locks it there, holding my arm in
place. She then slides herself into the pilot's seat, buckles her own
harness, and places her bracelet into a matching slot, and the aircar's
doors slide shut and it begins moving, slowly, until it gets to an open
highway. It picks up speed.I watch the scrolling fields as they pass
and find myself suddenly weary.
T'Pel seems to sense this, telling me we will be "home" soon.
Apparently I will not be allowed to rest immediately. I place my
fatigue on hold, to be dealt with when I am able.
Soon enough, the car slows, and I see we are turning into a roadway
leading to the back of what appears to be a rather large mansion, in
the style of some houses I've seen on Earth. I catch a glimpse of
ornate gardens before the aircar pulls into the back, where I see low
buildings attached to each other and a back entry into the mansion. The
doors open and our bracelets unlock.
At her instigation, I peel myself from the plastic. T'Pel lifts the
sheet and has me follow her to the back of the house, where she stuffs
the plastic into a recycler standing there, then leads me into a low
building, marked for male slave quarters.
She introduces me to an elderly Klingon male, Qol, she says his name
is, and I bow to him, which seems to please him. It must be galling for
a Klingon to be a slave here. I have heard that they do keep slaves on
their homeworld—perhaps this old man is one of those. I'm shown
my cot near the door, as T'Pel tells me I will be keeping odd hours and
might wake the field slaves by my irregular sleep schedule. She shows
me the showers and indicates a bar of soap which smells of lye and
animal fats. I am to scrub first, as the showers are preset to only ten
minutes.
As I am already naked, I lather myself and touch the tap. The water is
icy, and I rinse quickly, and stand, unable to control my shivering.
T'Pel indicates a rectangle of rough cloth that is more absorbent than
it looks, and I rub my body with it, trying to get circulation back,
and once again, smooth my bangs with my fingers. As I hang the towel up
I hope fleetingly that it is cleaner than it looks .
T'Pel hands me a tunic and drawstring pants. Grateful to have clothing again, I quickly put them on.I risk a question.
"Is it permitted to ask where we are, T'Pel? I do not know the names of my owners, yet, nor even which world we are on."
T'Pel chuckles. She could certainly use instruction in discipline,
though her voice is melodious. In another circumstance, I might enjoy
hearing it.
"You needn't be formal with me, Spock. I'm just the Mistress' maid,
same status as you. Save it for the slaves who run the kitchen and
quarters." She measures my foot with her hand and picks up a pair of
sandals. "I don't know what planet it is. I've never been anywhere but
here. Our owners are Lord and Lady Brock. Their son—your master,
though he doesn't own you—is Master Owen. He's gone for a few
days, which is good, because you should learn your way around his
quarters while he's gone. He can't do any real harm to any of us, but
he does have a mean streak in him. You'll need to be attentive. "
I listen intently, determined to collect as much data as I can. None of
this comes as second nature, yet. I must learn to make it so.
There is a rack by the back door, and she instructs me that the sandals
must be only worn in the house as their purpose is to protect the floor
and coverings from our feet. I must wash my feet each time I don the
sandals, and keep them in the rack provided. I bathe my feet in the tap
provided, and dry them on the rag also hung by the door.
Once I've placed them on my feet, she takes my hand and pulls me into the house.
Curious to learn my new habitat, I look around. I see a large and old
fashioned kitchen with a stove of the type which must have been popular
centuries ago dominating one wall. It gives out a welcome heat. I see a
long plank table with stools all around it. On the end wall, by a
doorway I will later learn is a laundry room with actually machinery
for cleaning clothing and linens and then drying them, there is a sink,
filled with assorted crockery and pots, all being scrubbed by a slave
of indeterminate species, who I later learn is a Dolomite, though I
must introduce myself before she speaks to me. Apparently,she is used
to being ignored.
My hands are seized by a Tellarite woman, who pulls me to a seat at the
table and introduces herself as Regul. She places before me a bowl of
hot stew and a spoon. "Eat, eat," she says. "It's all vegetarian. I
know how to cook for Vulcans. And I know you'll be hungry." I thank
her, and sample the stew. It is good and I indeed have an appetite. I
have not eaten since early morning.
I finish it quickly and thank her. I would take my bowl to the sink,
but she waves me on. "It's time for you to meet the mistress. Master
and young master are away for a few days. You're very lucky, Spock."
I am growing weary of hearing how fortunate I am to be owned, but of
course I will not say as much. I follow T'Pel through the door into a
large hallway, and am taken to a doorway which leads to a narrow set of
stairs, behind the large ones in front. We climb to a landing leading
to another doorway, where we soon find ourselves in front of a double
doorway.It opens at a touch.
T'Pel enters and kneels; I follow and do the same. Though my eyes are
lowered, I regard the woman in front of me surreptitiously, through my
lowered lashes. She is short, round, and clad in some unlikely flowing
garment. But she does have a kind look about her face. I see her
studying me, and look at her feet.
She places her fingertips under my chin. "Look at me, Spock."
I lift my eyes to her grey ones. She smiles at me, and her face
crinkles.I believe she is trying to put me at ease, in her way, or
perhaps assess my abilities. She lets go my chin and I drop my gaze
again, as I've been taught. She bids me stand. I rise, keeping my gaze
down.
"Have you been treated well, Spock?"
"This slave has, Mistress."
"Fed? Shown your quarters?" At my affirmative, she asks if I can read.
Of course this would be rare, in a slave population, but it is not
forbidden if my lessons have been correct. At my second affirmative,
she gives me two slim books and tells me they are a gift. I bow my
thanks, but do not examine them yet. She turns to T'Pel and tells her
to issue me what I need--a change of clothing, personal supplies,
supplements-- and to show me my young master's quarters and what my
duties will be. Then I'm to be allowed to rest until morning in the
quarters given me.
We are dismissed, and back out as if from royalty. Fascinating custom.
Over the next hour, T'Pel acquaints me with my owner's stateroom and my
duties. I will tend to his clothing, polishing boots, and making
certain clothing is neat and hung up or folded. I will be making his
bed and helping him dress and undress. I'm told the correct way to do
all this. I will bring him refreshments as he demands them. And if he
holds a party in his suite, I will help attend that. I'm shown a pallet
at the foot of my young master's lavish bed, and told that will be my
place if he so demands, as I may have to dress him, or bring him
whatever he wants. Sometimes he'll want me there all night.
But mostly not, and when he goes visiting, as they all go from time to
time, I will be allowed to rest, as I will not be accompanying my young
master.
Then she takes me outside again and while I remove the sandals, she
retrieves for me a small bag with personal supplies—small sewing
kit, beard suppressor, toothbrush, comb, and the supplements. I am told
that I will be eating in the kitchen, real food, rather than the slave
rations fed to field hands, which are nutritious but tasteless. I'm
told where to obtain salt for tooth cleaning, and when I will be issued
replacement supplies or allowed use of scissors to cut my hair.
When we are through, I find a shelf at the foot of my cot, fortunately
piled with a number of blankets, and I stow my belongings neatly.
And I'm given the scheduled mealtimes, but told as I will be keeping
irregular hours, I shall be allowed to take my meals when I can. Regul
will see I am fed.
"Now, Spock, you do have some time for yourself. Do you have any
questions? Mistress doesn't expect me to attend her again for another
hour."
"You've been most thorough, T'Pel. I thank you."Though logic need not
be thanked, T'Pel seems to have not learned the basics."Do you
meditate; do you know the Mind Rules?"
"I never learned how, Spock. I wasn't raised by Vulcans. Can you teach me?"
"I was told this was only allowed through the mind touch. Have you ever melded before, T'Pel?"
"I have not. You will show me."
I steeple my fingers. It is difficult to overcome a lifetime of
learning that the mind touch should be used as seldom as possible,
since there can be a danger of forging an unwanted link. But I do not
see a choice. "Very well, T'Pel. I shall guide you. Follow my lead."
I place my fingers on her face, on the meld points and guide her hand
to my face with my other hand. She finds the meld points instinctively.
I sense her mind already. I must teach her to shield.
It is done. Our minds are together.
//Can you see my mind, now?//
//This is amazing, Spock. I have so much to learn..//
//Yes. I will guide you to the elementary steps. When you have mastered them, we can continue.Not too much now.//
I show her how to place her shields, and strengthen the neural pathways
her parents laid for her in infancy that had never been activated. Then
I show her the First Rules of meditation and some of the first
teachings of Surak.
When we finally break contact, a tear is in her eye.I have seen that
she has accessed a memory of her birth, her father holding her, and
speaking her name, then placing her at her mother's breast.
"My apologies for the intrusion, T'Pel. I endeavored only to show you the disciplines, not to eavesdrop on your memories."
"It's all right, Spock. I didn't remember before. Now I know how to find the memories. I thank you."
"One does not thank logic, T'Pel. Your control is admirable for one who
has never learned. I hope we will be allowed to continue. I can see I
will have little free time...and I must take some time to myself, even
if I must carve it out of my sleeping schedule."
I see she wishes to reach out to me, to touch again, but now she
understands why Vulcans do not touch casually. Instead, she inclines
her head and leaves me, telling me I should rest.
Instead I open the books that had been given me. One is a collection of
stories of obedience of slaves to their masters, extolling such as
virtues. The other details some of the tasks I will be performing.
Neither is particularly difficult to commit to memory. Once done, I
close the books and lay them aside.
I take time in my solitude to review the Rules of the Mind, of acceptance of what is.
It is three days later when my young master, as I must call him,
returns. By then I have learned all my tasks. They are tedious, but not
particularly difficult. My young master immediately has me remove his
boots and massage his feet. I do so. He has me run his bath and bring
him refreshment in the form of drink and fruit. I kneel and present
them. I bathe him after, drying him with a large towel. I then dress
him in his leisure clothing, holding garments for him to step into one
by one, and then fastening them for him, as if he were a child.
My assessment of my master is a young man who is indolent and has been
spoiled, given his own way in everything. He demands much of servility
from me, and I comply. Almost he treats me as another piece of his
furniture, but I sense a dislike for me, which I am at a loss to
understand. I am careful to give no offense, and my duties are
performed as I have been instructed. Yet he appears as if he would try
to find a reason to fault me. I will endeavor to give him none.
I shall try to think of my experiences as an interesting study in a
post-technological slave society. Historically, there is not as much
need for slave labor after technology replaces the need, yet even in my
own universe there are places which practice it. One of the key
requirements for Federation membership is that a planet or system
neither support nor practice enslaving other beings, which is one of
the reason that the Orion Empire never gained admission to the
Federation, though they applied more than once while I was still a
cadet at Starfleet Academy. There is much potential for abuse of
slaves, of course, aside from the illogic of owning other sentient
beings. I suspect that even if this farm is a model of humane
treatment, it is far from typical. I have seen the distress apparent on
slaves led away for hard labor. It is possible that I have been given
the high end of random chance.
I am often summoned to massage feet and shoulders and dress and undress
my young master. He keeps me busy enough that I do not have time to
attend to my own needs. I think the Master notices this; he speaks to
my young master, and he makes a show of letting me have time to eat and
rest. But he is alert for any mistakes I make attending to him. Rather
than using collar settings to punish me, he simply keeps me late and
has me attend him early. Once again, I have little time to eat or
sleep, and no time at all to meditate.
When he leaves for an extended visit elsewhere, I bring dishes back to
the kitchen and then spend a day making certain all is spotless for his
return. Then I go to my cot and compose myself for sleep.
I find my duties take more time than I would have thought though they
are certainly no exercise for my mind. Over the next few days, I
reinstate my mind disciplines and reintegrate the data that landed me
here. I can do my physical work while assigning a level of my mind to
sift through the data I had been storing on my computer back home.
Though I did not process it all, there was a significant portion of the
binary code I heard while the computer was beginning to process it; I
shall endeavor to spend a certain amount of time each day compiling
what I may.
It is still my wish to find a way back. How to do that is problematic at present.
Again, I remind myself of what my captain and friend often said,"There are always possibilities."
Many nights, when my young master returns, it is long after the rest of
the household, including most slaves, have retired. I smell ethanol on
his breath and it is my job to clean him, undress him, and get him to
bed. I must then take the cast off clothing, see that it is cleaned and
pressed, and return again early to serve breakfast, if he wants it, or
massage his head, or whatever he needs.
My strength is useful when he is drunk, as he is a dead weight. I doubt he could be as easily lifted by many servants.
It is two weeks later that I receive my most disliked orders—to
go to the female in charge of women's quarters and procure him a
bedslave from among the field hands.
After he is through with her and she is dismissed, it is my job to
clean the bedclothing and remake the bed. My master watches me closely;
it is as if he would like to find some sign of rebellion. But I give
him none, nor do I let my face betray any dislike of my duties or of
his excesses.
But when he again leaves for an extended visit elsewhere and I have
time to myself, I immerse myself in my disciplines as best I can, given
that I am never allowed privacy.
It is most difficult. But I have evidence that Vulcans and Vulcan tradition have survived centuries of this. So will I.
During the times my young master is away, I am able to mingle with the
other servants at their standard mealtimes. I meet Conjon, the
Cardassian body servant to our owner, and the various kitchen helpers
and food preparation servants. I meet several of the laundry workers
and once, when the drying machine breaks down, I am able to repair it
with no difficulty. I am at a loss why the owners who seem to have much
wealth, prefer antique machinery to modern appliances. However, they
do, even though it increases unnecessarily the workload of their
slaves—yet that is probably of little concern to them.
I do not encourage them to like me, but they all seem to. Perhaps it is
that we are all property, and here is a ready-made slave society. I
discover that slaves try to minimize workload whenever possible, and
many of them seek to make jobs last longer than they should, thus
securing rest time not granted by our masters.When I am willing to
perform tasks that otherwise would not get done in kitchens or in
quarters,perhaps my contributions are appreciated. I do not know. Regul
in particular seems to try to make certain I eat enough and have food I
would enjoy.
It is difficult to explain to her that I do not wish to eat more than
is necessary for my body to function. It takes some time to be able to
demonstrate that it is more efficient to simply allow me to determine
my own meal portions than to "waste food" as she says by sending most
to the cycler when she overfeeds me.
I have noticed that she also manages to keep some Klingon delicacies in
the stasis unit marked for Klingons. I have taken to bringing some of
these to Qol when I go to sweep in quarters or do other cleaning chores
that otherwise would not get done.
Though my intent is not to curry favor, he appears to look favorably on
my efforts. The truth is, I have no logical reason for doing this. I
can understand his loneliness, as it is a condition I have been used to
most of my life. It is a purely emotional response, to try to give this
old man pleasure, but one I cannot seem to resist.
T'Pel and I continue her lessons. She has memorized most of the first
volume of Surak's Reflections, and her shielding is impeccable. She now
reads and could—if it were allowed—speak in Gol-Vulkhansur.
But there is a side effect of teaching entirely by mind-touch. She and
I seem to have formed a tenuous Bond. It seems to have replaced the
Bond once forged with T'Pring, who, if she exists in this reality,
would be Bonded to another.
This would be more distressing were it not breakable by any trained
healer.T'Pel has indicated her assent to this Bond. I am not inclined
to anchor myself to this place any more than I have to, but in fact,
while I would prefer to think that my human blood might spare me from
the Burning, I cannot ignore the fact that I may be subject to it.
There are disciplines, but I have not learned them, and if this does
overtake me, without one to whom I am Bonded, I could very well become
a danger to myself or others.
And the Bond with T'Pring certainly does not exist anymore, even though
it has been tenuous in the years since we forged it, under our clans'
tutelage. Even so, it had been a tie, an anchor, always present. In its
absence, T'Pel and I seem to have forged another.
It is my hope that it will not have to be a permanent one. It will depend on how long I am here.
------------------------
I will resume this log in the morning, as I am much fatigued.