Chapter Thirty-Six
After the Show
T'Pol
"On the contrary, I do understand you; I simply do not agree with you. There is a difference." What I do not understand is where the disconnect is taking place. The commodore himself told me Ed Wood, the writer, director, and producer of Plan 9 was every bit as sincere in his storytelling as Rod Serling, the man responsible for 'To Serve Man'. The fact that Plan 9 was farcically bad in multiple genres – horror, thriller, police procedural, drama, science fiction, and possibly a few others – doesn't change the fact that its tenuous plot was meant to be taken seriously. Unless…
"Do you mean to say, nobody takes it seriously now, and for that reason, it's not considered seditious?"
"Exactly!" he barks, snapping his fingers and pointing at me as if there were others in the room calling out and I was the only one who gave the right answer.
"But then, how did the film survive long enough to achieve the status of a beloved bad movie?" I find it most satisfactory that, despite not being human, I could easily discern between Plan 9 as bad science fiction and 'To Serve Man' as very good science fiction, and I'm quite certain I could have done so without the commodore having told me beforehand about so-called 'so-bad-they're-good' films.
"These films were made prior to World War III," he explains, and his face takes on that expression he gets when he's still trying to make sense of something for himself. "Not long after World War II, actually. More'n thirty years before the Eugenics Wars, durin' a period of time when the Empire was called the Imperial Regime. It was a lot smaller, rulin' only about sixty per cent of Earth's land mass, an' it was a lot more permissive, too. In fact, dissent wasn't just tolerated, but sometimes, it was even effective."
"Really, in what way?" I've never heard of any period in Earth's history when people were permitted to disagree with the government without some sort of penalty, so it's a surprise to find out that there was ever a time when the government actually listened to protests.
"Well, in the 1950s an' '60s, African Americans in what was then the United States started protestin' for their civil rights," he says. "Prior to that, they had segregation an' anti-miscegenation laws that kept blacks an' whites apart. It was a hold-over from slavery."
"I had heard that humans once enslaved one another," I tell him - a little tentatively, for this is certainly not a subject that is widely discussed, however widely it may be known.
He gives me a scowl and mutters, "Some would say we still do." Rubbing a hand over his face, he continues, "But that's a conversation for another time. In the 1960s an' 70s, especially after the invention of the birth control pill, women began protestin' for equal treatment at work. In the 1980s an' early 90s it was apartheid in South Africa an' equal rights for LGBTQ folks in different places 'round the world."
"And that's when the eugenics wars broke out."
"Right. In 1992," he agrees with a nod. "Somehow, even in the midst of all that, South Africa managed to integrate itself, but it wasn't until the middle of the 21st century that the LGBTQ communities got their full rights."
"When your Third World War began."
"That's right. An' so many governments were so eager to fight that they started draftin' anybody an' everybody, whatever their race, gender, or sexual orientation. An' after the world's various militaries integrated everybody, the rest of the world had no choice but to follow along. Soldiers comin' back from action weren't takin' any shit from anybody about anything, let alone the color of their skin, the equipment they were born with, or the people they chose to love. War did what generations of peaceful protests couldn't. It made us all the same. It was the great equalizer."
His voice has taken on a bitter tone.
"You sound disappointed," I observe.
"Oh, I think it's great that we eventually decided all Human bein's were equal. Some countries had been sayin' it for years, centuries even, but it wasn't until the end of World War III that we actually finally meant it. I just think it's a damned shame that we had to almost destroy the planet an' nearly annihilate each other to figure that out."
"Do you think the Empire will ever end the enslavement of aliens?" I ask quietly. The music he put on after the movies is loud enough to mask my question.
Leaning in close, he whispers, "Not in my lifetime, darlin', an' probably not in yours, but as long as you're mine, I'll allow you as much freedom an' dignity as I can."
I nod. "I know."
Leaning back again, he continues with the discussion of the films. "So, anyway, after World War III, most of the major cities were gone, an' only a few of the autonomous governments remained. The Imperial Regime was by far the strongest, an' through alliances an' conquest it absorbed all the others, an' renamed itself the United Earth Empire. Plan 9 was already well-established as somethin' to be laughed at an' enjoyed for bein' just plain awful by then, so it escaped the censors."
"I see. But what about 'To Serve Man', then?" I press. "It hardly presents Humanity in a flattering light."
"Sure, it shows us gullible an' easily manipulated,'' he agrees, "but the whole set-up of the series is to say, 'Imagine…What if…This isn't real, but it could have been.' An' then when your people made first contact, well, it served the Empire's purpose to let it be seen."
"Stories showing aliens as a threat were already embedded in your culture, so there was no resistance to going to war when they became real."
"That's right. Stuff like this had already primed the pump," he agrees. "The Imperial propaganda machine did the rest, an' by the time anyone thought to suggest we could make friends with the aliens, we were conquerin' enemies we'd only ever seen as dots of light in the night sky an' makin' pre-emptive strikes against people who'd never heard of us - some of whom hadn't even developed space travel yet, let alone warp speed."
The sad, bitter tone is back, and although I could fabricate a logical explanation for what I say next, the truth is, I simply do not want him to feel bad.
"That's quite an accomplishment for a race that only decades earlier was on the verge of self-annihilation."
The long bitter laugh I get in response is not at all what I was expecting.
"I–I'm sorry. Have I said something wrong?"
"Come on, T'Pol! You've lived among us long enough. Have we really accomplished anything, or have we just taken our local squabbles to the stars? The Empire is expandin' at an unsustainable rate. If we don't stop soon, we won't be able to hold on to what we have. Then, all the planetary governors an' petty despots who are lookin' for more of whatever lights their fires, be it wealth, power, or people to push around, are gonna start tryin' to take it from each other.
"An' you've seen how it works in the Fleet an' the MACOs. You saw enough of how they treated General Reed, how I treated him. We're no better than we were three hundred years ago, it's just that the stakes are higher."
Once again it troubles me to see him taking on the burden of all the sins of his race, and only partly because it is illogical for him to do so. Mostly, I am disturbed to see how it wounds him. I think sometimes, he feels ashamed not only of what he personally has done, but of every wrong thing his people have done since they discovered fire and moved out of the caves.
Captain Forrest tried to influence his crew, as much as he could, to be more compassionate, less selfish and vindictive, but the nature of life on a starship is so hectic and transitory, and the turnover rate among the crew is so much higher than it is here on Jupiter Station, that he never had the opportunity to connect with his people and serve as a role model the way Trip has. It is regrettable that Forrest died in the taking of the Defiant, for despite the difference in their respective ranks I believe the commodore would have found a much easier alliance with him than the one he is trying to forge with General Reed.
Then again, had Captain Forrest survived, it is more than likely that none of us would be where we are today. For all the unusual decency there was in the Captain, he lacked the resolve of Commodore Tucker. Captain Forrest did the decent thing whenever it was convenient, but he was not above torturing someone or killing them if it would expedite his agenda. Commodore Tucker doesn't hurt or kill unless it's unavoidable. He isn't trying tocoerce the general into joining his cause, he is trying to convincehim to do so, and while any alliance they form might not be easy, it will more likely be lasting.
"I don't think that you are any more qualified than I am to know what your people were like three hundred years ago," I tell him. "I can only speak to what I have seen for myself, and regardless of what your people may or may not have done to each other and to other species through the centuries, I have seen you do great things."
"The Defiant specs were just…"
"I am not talking about the Defiant," I insist. "I'm talking about the people who work for you. You trust your department chiefs and they've been allowed to flourish. Hess and Rostov in particular have become real leaders in their own rights, and yet, you're unthreatened by them. Under your tutelage, Commander Kelby is finally working to his potential. Do you think Lieutenant Cutler would have been able to remain functional after Reed left if you hadn't been there to support her?
"Even before the Defiant, you had that compassion in you. You cared for the safety of your team, all of them. You got just as angry when one of the untrained Vulcan conscripts who did little more than scrub the plasma manifolds forgot his radiation badge as you did when I forgot, or when Hess or Rostov or any human on your team did it.
"As a whole, perhaps Humanity hasn't come very far in the past three centuries, but as an individual, you are well ahead of your time, and you're bringing the people close to you along with you. Humanity will be what it is and do what it does, but you have done extraordinary things. I've noticed most humans will follow a strong leader, and whether you realize it or not, you are a strong leader. If you succeed in turning General Reed to your cause and forming an alliance with him, you may very well become Hero of the Empire a second time."
"It doesn't feel like enough," he says, scowling into distance.
"It's more than enough for one man," I try to assure him, and another illogical impulse urges me to cup his cheek with my hand. He tenses at my touch, but I choose to ignore it. "As a military commander, you are responsible for everyone under your command, but as a man, you're only liable for your own actions. On balance, you have done far more good than evil. You are a good man."
He looks at me "You think so, huh?"
"I know so, and I have known since before the Defiant." Whatever his failings, he has always been the best Human being I have ever known, and for some reason which I choose not to examine, tonight it is especially important to me that he knows that. "In the initial stages of pon farr, if her designated spouse is not available, a Vulcan female has a few precious hours to select the most appropriate partner for mating before she must copulate with some male, any male, in order to survive. It is our instinct to look for an intelligent, honourable, moral partner, someone who will be able to draw on more than just his physical strength in a conflict and who will stand by his mate in difficult times; and even though there were others of my kind available, I chose you. That choice was instinctive. I had no more control over it than I did the physiological responses that came after. The fact that I could and did use you was merely coincidental. I have long regretted that my actions that day caused you to suffer and that they drove an even greater wedge of mistrust between us."
I lean forward and kiss him, the first time outside of pon farr that I have initiated any deliberately sexual contact between us. He is so surprised he tries to draw back, but, not thinking of any consequences, I slide my hand from his cheek around to the back of his neck so I can hold him in place. It is easier to do than one might expect, for, my greater Vulcan strength notwithstanding, he doesn't try very hard to pull away.
We sit there, our foreheads pressed together, each breathing the other's air, so close we cannot even look one another in the eye.
"You don't have to…"
"I may never understand love or affection or desire the way a Human female would, but that doesn't mean I feel nothing for you," I whisper, and as I move my hands to his psi points, he leans into my touch. "Please, let me show you that which I may never have the words to name."
He does not speak his consent to the meld. He doesn't need to. With a single thought, he has banished the need for words between us.
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