The next memory I examine is a few days later. I have been taken to
another holding pen, this one larger, and I have had a new
identification bracelet locked on my wrist. I am with a number of other
unruly beings and my clothing is torn and dirty. None of the others
will talk to me; they often take my rations from me, and I cannot
defend myself. They easily dodge my attempts to strike back. At least
they largely leave me alone except for stealing rations and shoving me
from one area of the pen to another.
Then one of the dealers comes and I am taken out of the pen and led to
another area. I am being looked over by a potential buyer. He has me
strip and I comply. He feels my arms and legs and then cups my sex in a
way that proves disquieting. I remain still while he runs his fingers
over my head and touches my ears, lingering on the tips. I feel his
thoughts and I hold my breath, afraid I will jerk away and invite
punishment. He caresses my hair, dirty and unkempt from my days in
confinement with no way to clean myself.
From the words he exchanges with the dealer, he is pleased with me and
they agree on a price. He takes my hand and leads me to a private
transport. I am made to kneel at my new owner's feet, and he continues
his caresses. I have no doubt as to my expected new duties. While I
have never objected to consensual relationships among adults, I am not
being asked for consent. In addition, I am bonded. Yet this did not
stop Owen from demanding sexual relations from any slave he wished to
have, and I know this will not stop my owner from demanding whatever he
wishes from me. I do not know if I will be able to perform outside my
bond. T'Pel was passive with Owen. Will I be allowed to be as passive
in my duty? I have no experience in this.
I simply do not know.
I am certain that I will not have long to wait before I find out,
though. This is not an aspect of slavery I had given much thought to
before deciding to adapt to it. I may have been in error. But I am not
ready to simply disobey and take those consequences, now that I am
fully aware of them, either. This is only of the body and is of no
importance. The mind can overcome almost anything if the will is there.
I am delivered into the care of several slaves who bring me from the
cool air to a warm place, and one of them talks to me and allows me to
touch his face to memorize it. "I am Ranang," he tells me, "And I am
the head slave in our master's seraglio. I can see you are unsure, but
I will help you, if you are willing to learn. Your life here can be
pleasant." I hear a chorus of assenting voices. One by one they
introduce themselves to me, and I touch their faces, attempting to make
my fingers do the work of my eyes. All of them are male, most, I think,
young in appearance or years. There are two Bajorans, three Trill, an
Andorian and even an El-Aurean. I do not know if the Trill are
conjoined. Would they consider this to be an interlude in their lives,
if so? I hope I will have the chance to converse, later. Ranang tells
me he is Golden Orion and has been in his master's—our
master's—service for two decades or more. He is unsure of his
age. He tells me our owner's name is Eduardo. I assume there is a
surname, but I am not told it. I must address him simply as Master, and
if I speak of him, Lord Eduardo.
The others pull me toward a sunken tub and it is filled with hot
perfumed water. I am settled in it and try not to wrinkle my nose at
the heavy rose scent. The others wash my hair and my body which, while
unsettling, is pleasant after the cool of the air when I was
transported here. Ranang hands me a cup; I am told to drink it.
"Please, I am not thirsty," I tell him, but he makes it clear this is
not a request, so I drain it. The taste is not unpleasant but my mouth
tingles.
"Spock," his voice pulls me back to some alertness. My mind seems out
of focus and I feel an unwelcome warmth in my groin. I assume he has
read my name from my markings."Your stay here can be pleasant. I can
help you."
Alarm bells seem to resound in my head, and I lean back in the tub as hands rub my neck under my collar.
"Ranang. What have you done?"I cannot keep the hoarseness out of my
voice. I strive for control, feeling it slip from my fingers.
"It's an herb. It will help you relax, Spock. I knew a Vulcan once, in
a brothel. He had to be given a higher dose than this every day. It was
the only way he could—perform."
I close my eyes, briefly. "Ranang," I try again. "I am not stupid. I
know why I have been bought. I will do my duty. But not like this...you
do not understand." I sketch in the bare facts of that which my lost
control cost me. By now the tub is draining, and I am helped out of it
and toweled dry. I feel hands applying oil to my body and to my horror
I am responding to the touch.
Ranang leans over me, and I can feel his warm breath on my face as he
smooths my hair."You will be careful, Spock. Our master's pleasure is
important to me." His fingers caress my penis as it begins to slide
from its sheath. He makes certain I am erect, and pats my shoulder."I
can be your friend, Spock, or I can be your foe.
I can teach you what he likes and how best to please him, and you will learn, or you will be punished. Understand?"
I gasp, and pull my shattered senses around me, willing my body to be
still, to acquiesce. "I have said I will comply. Please, Ranang. Do not
do this to me ever again. I am much stronger than a human. If I lose
control.."
"You will not." Ranang pats my arm and leans in again, and tells me
what our master likes. I flush as the words further inflame my
treacherous body, but I nod again, bowing my head.
Again he touches me, stroking the oil on my buttocks and reaching in a
finger to my opening, and again I gasp as it slips within. "Tight, so
tight. But there is pleasure, no?" He inserts another finger and I find
myself pushing back onto it. "Not yet, Spock. So eager. My people have
been trained for this all their lives. I think you enjoy men, no?" My
thoughts boil. It was a subject I had no first-hand knowledge of, yet
it was not logical to deny the instinct of my body's reaction.
As if he were the telepath, and not I, he says, "You will enjoy this.
Our master tries to make it good for each of us. It is why we love him
so. You will learn to do so yourself."
"Love, "I manage to breathe out,"Is not logical.I will do my duty."
"If you do not enjoy it, you will not let our master know. If you perform well, I will not drug you again. Understand?"
I nod, again. "I will not disclose my reluctance. Please. I fear my strength, unleashed."
With a final caress he withdraws his finger, and with his other hand
touches my mouth. "Such a pretty mouth, Spock. This is another thing he
likes." And again he instructs me. It is only the body, I tell myself.
It is unimportant. My mind will remain my own.
Again, he appears to read my mind. "If you perform well, and our master
is pleased, I will not drug you again. But be warned. I will not
hesitate to do what I must to ensure our master's pleasure and
happiness."
"I..OH!..I will comply." I manage, and I am led to another chamber and intructed to recline and wait.
As Ranang leaves me, he caresses my shaft again. "Keep that erect. It's impressive."
I have not long to wait. I turn my face to the sound of the steps and
the voice I hear, dropping my eyes as if I could see."Mmmm, tasty,"
says a throaty rumble. "Put your hands to your sides. I want to look at
you."
Looking is not all he does. I feel his hands on my body, fingertips on
my face, my ears, my thighs. I part them and try to control my
breathing, but I am only partly successful. He handles my penis and the
treacherous organ begins to lubricate. I keep my hands at my sides,
afraid I will hurt him if I allow my hands to do what they wish to do.
I feel the pressure of his body on mine and his erection rubbing mine.
His mouth engulfs me and I feel the cool moistness of his tongue on my
own.My shields are weak and I can feel his thoughts spilling from him,
and I respond as he wishes. It is not at all repugnant and this
surprises me, but I do not show it. Then his mouth leaves mine and I
feel him leaving little wet kisses and nips on my neck and shoulders
and down my body, to my nipples, which respond, tightening, as teeth
nip them gently in turn. Then the cool wet tongue is working its way
down my belly, igniting a fire within me. The heat moves downward in
reaction and enflames my groin. Then his mouth engulfs the head of my
sex, and his tongue flicks between the ridges on the sensitive spot
underneath. Perhaps he is picking up my thoughts as well, as he seems
to know what to do. I try not to buck my hips as I still fear my
strength against his.
My hands clench at the bedding beneath me and I hear a growl. To my surprise, I recognize it as my voice.
Before I can lose my control entirely he releases my penis again. I am
having trouble remembering to speak in Standard,and I clamp my lips on
the pleading that comes to them in the language of my birth, though I
am not certain he will notice in his aroused state.
"Touch me," I hear him say hoarsely, his voice as rough as my own to my
ears. Timidly I lift my hands to his hips and caress, growing bolder as
I sense what he wants. I let my fingers wander to his belly and his
thighs, and down his buttocks, and I put out my finger and tease the
tender skin of his opening, as Ranang did to mine earlier. He bucks and
gasps—and pulls back. "Too soon, love." He seems unconscious of
the endearment. "I want this first
time to last. They told me you were inexperienced..."
"This slave.."He puts a finger to my lips.
"I think," he whispers, with amusement in his voice,"You can speak informally in my bed."
"Yes, master," I manage," I had a bondmate.."
"A woman?"
"Yes, master."
"Then you are virgin. I'll be gentle with you, Spock. Let us please one another."
I nod again, not trusting myself to speak.
"Turn over. I want to take you. Don't worry. I'll take it slowly. I won't hurt you if I can help it."
I comply and he has me lift my hips, sliding a pillow underneath. I
hear him doing something with his hands,and when they touch me I feel a
cool oiliness which warms to my buttocks as he caresses me.
Inadvertently, his fingers slide over my chenesi, and I gasp. Then his
fingertips are between my buttocks, parting them, and I feel a digit
gently tease my opening. I relax to allow him to enter me, and
involuntarily tighten again as his finger slips within.I cannot help
myself. I push back and he moves his finger in and out. Soon I feel a
second enlarge me further. I feel his fingers retreat and the head of
his cock push at me and then engulf itself in my body, and I push back,
sheathing him tightly. The head caresses my pleasure center, and my
control evaporates. I feel fingers tighten around my shaft as well and
stroke me in the same cadence as the invading cock, as it pulls out and
rams home. Then the flame in my belly centers itself again in my groin,
and my mind shatters in tidal waves of pleasure. I hear a voice cry out
in the language of my birth, and I recognize it as my own.
My owner's voice joins mine, engulfs it, and he comes. A moment later
and my secondary testicles tighten and erupt as well. My master lies on
me, stroking my hips and unmindful that he is stimulating my chenesi in
their hollows as he does so. I do not speak, as I have not been
addressed.
My master seems to know. Perhaps he sees my response.
He turns me and tells me to hold still, that he will pleasure me. I
keep my hands at my sides with difficulty, clutching at the bedclothes
so that I will not use my strength. My thoughts are still wanton. I
want...and I feel his tongue on my body again, working its way down my
belly, licking and nipping at my skin. Then his cool mouth once again
engulfs my cock, and soon, I move my hips and spurt. I feel his eyes on
me through his thoughts as my penis retracts once again.
It is my turn again. I trace his body with my fingers and my tongue, my
control partially restored. I clean his come and mine from his belly. I
cannot resist the impulse to not waste the moisture, and its scent
beckons me as I lave his belly and then his balls, cleaning the curls
they nestle in. "Touch me, Spock. I want..." I hear his voice and it
echoes in my mind. When I suck his balls into my mouth, one after
another, he stutters in his arousal."My gods, Spock, you can't be a
virgin. You're driving me wild...yesss"...His words sputter out as I
lick his shaft, flicking the sensitive spot just under the head. I can
feel it in his thoughts, even with my shields up. I am thankful he is
psi null—he feels none of mine.
When I suck the head into my mouth and pull the length back to my
throat he clutches at my head shuddering in his ecstasy. I milk him
when he comes. I feel his thoughts again as he sinks back. He is sated
for the night. He pulls at my shoulders and I release his now deflated
organ and pull myself up to lie next to his body.
His mouth meets mine in a long lingering kiss. "That was incredible,
Spock," he says. The drug is out of my system now, and I return the
kiss as best I can, knowing it is expected. My controls are back, and I
file the pleasures I felt in their proper order, to no longer affect
me. If I have performed as ordered, that is enough. I know I shall have
to do this again and again, but I will be in control of myself, at
least. For tonight, it is over.
My master cuddles up to my body and sleeps. I do not.
The next morning I'm given a room I'm told is my own, with control over
the thermostat which in this room is set to my voice control. There is
a cot and a soft rug over what feels like a wood floor. There is a
'fresher, and even a small replicator so that I can have my own meals
and tea, when I'm not required elsewhere. I am given no clothing.
Apparently the only one who wears any is our master. But the house,
while cooler than I keep my room, is warm enough for everyone but me. I
often hear the other rooms resound with lovemaking
noises—apparently the others are allowed to do as they please
when they are not with the master. I set the disturbing scents and
sounds aside as well and do not allow them to affect me.
What does affect me more than it should, in fact, is my enforced bed
duties with my owner.I am treated like a pampered pet. I am bathed by
the others daily, and my body treated to remove all hair but my head
hair, which conversly, my master has me grow, and it soon is down to my
shoulder blades. I find this illogical. He appears to like to run his
fingers through my hair and caress my ear tips. I am powerless to do
anything about that, either. I seldom have time to myself, as I find I
am his favorite. The others do not seem to mind. They are given
amusements—tridee vids, an abundance of the foods they like,
through replicators scattered throughout the dwelling, games, and even
music of a kind which fails to interest me.
I spend as much time in my room, alone, as I am allowed.
The others try to be kind to me but I must keep my controls in place.
My status as our master's favorite seems to keep them from offering
themselves to me as they do to each other—or maybe they know
Vulcans. I do not know which, but it is one annoyance or distraction I
do not have to deal with as I must deal with so many.
The sexual congress is a minor one. It is just another chore, now,
which I file away as so many others, but what I find harder to deal
with is that my master cannot keep his hands off me. He touches my head
constantly—playing with my ears, which seem to fascinate him, and
my hair, and petting my body as though I were a Terran dog or cat,
which I suppose in some ways I am, though he doesn't take nonhumanoids
to his bed. And with the touch his thoughts invade.
It is not that he is unlikeable, as a human. It is not that he holds
life or death over us, the people he thinks of as "animal". He tries to
be kind in his own fashion, though it does not occur to him that any of
us would reject his advances. It is simply that the raw emotions,
however uncomplicated, are always there to intrude upon the order of my
mind and disorder my careful structuring.
I am still in a cage, however soft and luxurious he makes it. I spend
as much time as I can perfecting my skills in the mind rules and
acceptance of the unavoidable, but he can shatter it with a few
well-aimed and intentioned caresses.
I attempt to keep myself apart, but Ranang seeks me out. He seems to
think I am in some emotional pain—if I am, it is not mine.
Ranang tells me over and over how happy he is here and that he was bred
for this kind of servitude. He is not used to Vulcans. I cannot explain
to him that Vulcan in my universe has no recollection of being
conquered in its collective history and no concept that such could ever
happen. That it happened here under what circumstance I only partially
know, means nothing. I persist in studying the equation from every
angle, but the only thing I can conclude is that I am flawed, as this
universe's Vulcan is flawed. I suspect my flaw to be my human blood,
but it may not be entirely that; in this place this Vulcan was
conquered when it was ruled by pure Vulcans.
Illogically, I do miss companionship. Ranang offers it to me, in his own fashion.
He seeks me out for conversation, necessarily guarded, but as candid as
possible, under the circumstances. I discover that the bracelets we
each wear are more than just identification devices. They also collect
information about each of us—where we are, what we speak of, and
indeed everything we do. They are, as I supposed, locked by
fingerprint—scanned for DNA, as well, so they can only be
unlocked by humans.This may be useful information someday. But the data
adds questions to the equation. How did the slaves on the slaver
Enterprise, as I suppose it probably was, plot a rebellion in the first
place? One possible answer is that the data obtained by the bracelets
is piecemeal and/or simply filed somewhere to be retrieved if any of
the rulers of this society feel they need it, otherwise, seldom
accessed.
Ranang tells me about his life. I learn he was born in the Orion
Empire, which apparently still exists here, though many of the worlds
under its dominion in my home universe are here under Terran Empire
rule. Ranang knows nothing of history, of course, any more than does
any slave I've managed to talk to, and I can hardly attempt to draw out
my owner in casual conversation. In fact, he rarely talks to any of us,
outside of what humans call "pillow talk", which in his case is simply
exclamations of what pleasures him. He at least tries to please his
partners, which I gather is rare among those humans who take their
pleasure with slaves.
I do not let him know that I do not need this and do not welcome it. I
would as soon do my duty by my master and leave to sleep in my own cot,
but that is not allowed either.
When the others talk to me, as they sometimes do, they tell me that
many of them were rescued by our master from intolerable conditions,
fields, mines, factories or abusive ownerships of one kind or
another.They seek me out to satisfy their curiosity about me and about
Vulcans. I tell them as little as possible, but I do give them an
abbreviated history. Much would not be believable, even if it were
allowed to speak of freedom for such as we. So I prevaricate somewhat.
They take my silence for Vulcan reticence.I learn little useful from
them in turn. Among the Trill, only one is conjoined, and he does not
expect to survive once his partner dies. The partner entities are dying
out, here. It will be a loss, but theirs is not the only endangered
species.
Few of them know how to read. Many of them occupy themselves in ongoing
shallow dramas on the trivee. I listen one day when I am surrounded
inadvertently by the household as I find myself in one of the rooms
used for such gatherings. There is little of redeeming value in the
story or characters, many of whom appear to be slaves heroically
rescuing their owners from one potential disaster or another. They
stress the virtues humans would cultivate in their property, loyalty,
self-sacrifice, and extreme devotion. Independence is shown to be an
undesirable trait. I would expect nothing else. I do not see the
attraction in these dramas,however.
When the room clears, I stand to make my way to my room, but I feel a
touch on my arm. It is Ranang, and he is asking me if I would teach him
to use a chess set given him by our master. It is not 3D chess, but the
old fashioned kind. It will hardly pose a challenge, but it would be a
welcome distraction. I explain to him that he will have to move my
pieces for me after the initial setup, as I will not be able to move
without putting my hand on pieces I do not intend to move. He is a
quick learner, and to my surprise, he manages a stalemate within our
first ten games.
He speaks to me while we play. "I hope you will regard me as your friend, Spock."
I fold my hands, touched in spite of myself. I miss my old friends
badly, and Ranang has been unfailingly courteous to me after that first
night, once he saw that I would perform my duty as I had told him I
would.
"I do, in fact. I am appreciative of all you've done for me." I am
aware that I will have to forge new friendships, new allies, as
fleeting as they might be now that I can no longer determine my own
destiny. But I am not ungrateful, and it is agreeable to spend time in
this fashion. Ranang has intelligence he does not use, and proves it by
how quickly he grasps this complex game.
Ranang tells me he loves our master. I do not understand "love", of
course, but even less do I understand that emotion as expressed by a
slave to a master. But he appears to honestly enjoy having none of the
responsibilities that come with freedom. If he has few decisions to
make, most of his needs are filled. He seems content to live in his
cage, and that is something beyond my understanding. I would seek to
understand it, since I am a scientist, after all, though there is
limited scope for me to practice my skills.
There is simply a lack of data to do any of my research, which must of
necessity be limited to my mind in any case. From time to time I think
about my friends and wonder if they are also working on the equation of
how to repeat that set of circumstances that landed me here, but there
is no way to know, so I do not think of that possibility often. It is
not a useful datum.
I also occasionally wonder what Ranang would make of my research,
limited though it is. I speak of other things. When he grows curious
about my home, I tell him about the things I may never see
again—the heat rising from the plains of Gol, where the rock and
sands were said to once run green with the blood of thousands—the
silver birds in the thermal updrafts, who never land until death, even
mating and raising their offspring in the air—The Watcher,
T'Kuht, as she rises over the desert when she is near. In turn he tells
me of the places he has been since he was sold from his mother.
In this way, we become friends. One day, I am navigating one of the
common rooms by tracing my path along its outer wall and my fingers
locate a ka'athryra, hanging for decoration, it seems. I seek out
Ranang and ask him to ask the master for me if I may have access to it,
as I am not allowed to approach him myself. He conveys Eduardo's
indifference to the instrument and permission, and I retrieve it. It is
badly out of tune, and I spend some time in restoring it, and then
begin practice.
I am in my room and I am able to lose myself in the music that is the
closest thing to emotional outlet I have ever had. Music is
esthetically pleasing; it has mathematical progression, and it is
logical to enjoy its beauty for its own sake. I am playing a
composition by the classical artist Seren from shortly after
Reformation, and I hear footsteps. Someone is listening. Thinking it
must be one of the others, I finish playing, and the other speaks. It
is Eduardo.
"That is beautiful, Spock. No, don't," he says, when I would have laid
the instrument aside and stood. "Please, won't you play some more?"
I bend my head and play the second movement of the composition. It is a
piece which speaks of loss of reason and flame of conquest, then
despair at seeing the needless death that the wars once fought in the
place of Seren's birth had wrought, and then goes on to express the
cool rain that is the Reason that Surak wrested from the pain and
suffering. When I am finished, my master is silent. Have I displeased
him?
He touches my cheek and I feel his thoughts again. He is moved.
Are my shields down? Has he caught my thoughts, or simply picked up the
feelings from the piece I played? Again he speaks. "You've never liked
sharing my bed, have you?"
I do not trust myself to speak.
"Why did you not say something, Spock? I would not force a slave. You may speak informally. You will not be punished."
"Master." I attempt to mitigate my abrogation of Ranang's trust. I
cannot know what to say."I was given no choice. I...have done my duty.
I will continue to do so."
"Spock, Spock."My master embraces me and lays his head on my shoulder
after I have carefully laid the ka'athryra aside. I do not resist, nor
do I hold myself rigid, though the last is with some effort."I can't
deny I want you. But I will not force a slave. I give you a choice.
Would you rather not?"
Again, I am afraid to trust my voice—or my hearing."Master. Am I truly being given a choice?"
"Yes, of course."My master pulls away from the embrace he initiated.I
listen closely to the words he utters. Can it be this easy?"Spock,
you've been a fantastic lover. But I have many slaves. All of them are
eager to share my bed. I tell you, I do not wish to force anyone. I've
never owned a Vulcan before. If you do not wish to lie with me, you do
not have to. I will always be fond of you. I regret that you do not
come to me of your will, but I won't force you now I know."
He smooths my hair, gives another pat to my shoulder."I can't promise
to keep my hands off your hair and those ears, but I won't take you to
bed anymore.
"Only," he pats my thigh, "Won't you please play for me? I don't order it. I ask it."
It is not logical, but I ...feel lighter...with this burden gone. "What
would my master have me play?" I ask, hoping he can understand my
gratitude.
Eduardo has been seated by me; he moves away a bit to allow me room as
I take up the ka'athryra. "Something...happy, if you can."
I comply. I am told later that the household came and listened outside
my door. I am gratified by their accolade, as I am out of practice. I
play for just under two hours before my master thanks me. He thanks me.
That, in itself is unusual, for a master to thank a slave. I have never
heard it done, certainly.
"I would ask if it would please you," Eduardo's tone is one of asking a
favor, as from an equal,"Will you play at my soirées? You are
free to refuse, as you have always been free to refuse your body to my
guests."
"Master, I would be...honored. I will play for you whenever you wish. I
am grateful for allowing me a choice. It is not something I expected."
"I told you, Spock. I would have my pets happy. If there is anything else lawful I can provide you, I will. Let me know."
"Master, there is one small thing. May I have clothing? I am so often cold..."
"It's a pity to hide that magnificent body, Spock, but sure. I'll go
shopping tomorrow. What would you prefer? Pants, tunic, underthings?
Slippers?"
"Whatever the master thinks best. I cannot see to choose..."
I can only hope for warmth and utility. When I was at Starfleet Acadamy
as a youth, I lived in San Francisco and had been advised to get warm
things. I had been fortunate enough to have found a tailor used to
outfitting Vulcans, and had succumbed to the logic of the luxury of
silk undergarments, long and closefitting, and warm when I needed
warmth, under the thin cloth of the cadet uniforms I generally wore.
Eduardo claps his hands and Ranang appears at his elbow. He gives
instruction to have me measured, and when this is done, he takes the
measurements and exits the room.
The next day he delivers a dresser to my room, and when I open the
drawers I find clothing. There are silk underclothes and short robes
and trousers. I trace the embroidery on the robes'necklines. There is
an unknown family crest which perhaps humans think is decorative. The
cut of this clothing is familiar and somehow reassuring. When my master
comes in, I am dressed, and I kneel at his feet and thank him. He has
me stand and gives me soft boots and after finding stockings, I don
them. He tells me I am dressed all in black and that I am, in his
words, "stunning". I do not feel stunning, but I do feel comfortable
and warm. It is another gift.
Then he has another surprise, a hairstylist, who cuts my hair the way I
wish, in the style of Surak. I am told that I will no longer be
depilated, save for my facial hair, if I choose—and I do so
choose—and that I will be allowed to bathe myself.
I am still not free, but I am much restored. I find I am able to reach the deeper levels of meditation now.
I have only my conversations with Ranang, our chess games, and my music
to occupy my time, which leaves me time to also try to interpret the
data code stream I memorized while it was being processed by my
computer terminal. If the calculations I make are correct on that data,
there was a weakness in time and space that could have resulted in any
one of us being sent to another place and time. It was only random
chance that placed me in that position. And to get back, I will need to
recreate the same conditions—only possible if I can find a way to
get back to the vicinity of that neutron star or its coordinates here.
I assume that the star in question exists here, for the purposes of my
calculations, but in fact, that will not be testable without access to
star maps. And those are not generally accessible by slaves. Indeed, I
am still not entirely certain where I am. Ranang has no idea. If the
Enterprise was in movement there are several inhabited systems within
the range of the timeframe I estimate we traveled when I was confined
before I was taken here. Without more data I am again at an impasse.
So once again I file what data I have away to be used at a later time.
I can go no further with research without some hard facts.
Meanwhile, my master has been throwing parties for his friends, and has
installed me as a featured performer. These soirees, as he calls them,
are attended by mixed crowds of women and men and many of them bring
their own servants. Apparently, I am a novelty of sorts. When I play,
it is often as background music, and I am aware that I am examined by
the guests as one by one or two by two they hover near me. I can hear
them move about, and some lean in to stroke my shoulder or arm or even
touch my ears. I am certain they have all seen Vulcans before, so I do
not understand the attraction. I speak of this later to Ranang, and he
laughs, and informs me that I look most exotic in my black robes,
unlike the more plainly clad servants they are used to.
I do my best to ignore the familiarities they impose on me and my
master often tells them to leave me be. After a time, the guests simply
ignore me as part of the background, which I prefer.
I do sometimes get an opportunity to converse with the servants brought
to the parties. None of them has any information that could help me
find out where this planet is, nor do any of them know of my former
owners. If my calculations are correct, our daughter will soon be born.
But I may never know her, nor she me. I am reluctant to ask my master
again, since I once breech the subject of finding her and he is
unwilling to subject himself to an unwanted female and child. It's
unclear to me whether he understands that I might not survive a cycle
without my bondmate, but if it comes to that, I will beg to be
destroyed humanely so as not to die in the madness. But it is a long
time away, most likely. So that is yet another thought I file away to
be addressed when or if I need to at some future time.
These unsettling thoughts most often come to me at night when I lie
alone, and I must get up and restore myself using the Mind Rules, after
which I am able to sleep once again.
I pull myself back from my memories and realize that I am again
fatigued. I will resume this after meditation. It is good to be
accustomed once again to the heat of my quarters.