Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Seven

Baulked

T'Pol

Although Trip informs me that General Reed was sympathetic to his request for 'asylum' for me in the event that Admiral Hernandez renews her interest during one of her periodic visits – the Revenge is currently being held close to Sol, as there is a new 'diplomatic initiative' in progress, so it docks at the station more often than it usually would – I am not wholly convinced that this entirely guarantees my safety. It would still be a risky maneuver for her to requisition my services in his absence, but I have noted before that Humans have a propensity to convince themselves of what they want to believe; and providing I am restored in usable condition, why should a temporary expropriation be an issue?

If we were dealing with an ordinary man, I think she might well decide the risk was negligible, or at the very least, worth the potential reward. Fortunately for me, Reed's history has established him as far from 'ordinary'. However reasonable he may currently have chosen to appear, his capacity for retaliation against those who offend him was established beyond doubt with that barbaric demonstration of Lingchi upon an individual whose exact crime was never clearly established even by the 'kangaroo court' set up to produce the guilty verdict that would give the proceedings some thin veneer of legality.

Still, it appears she has an interest in me for some reason. And I am not going to regard her as either friendly or potentially an ally.

It appears I am right to be wary. Several weeks later, when the Fortress is away on patrol, and I am busy in one of the many workshops scattered throughout the station, a slight movement at my left side announces that someone is standing close to me. I do not raise my eyes from the delicate mechanism I am working on, but both my hearing and sense of smell tell me that I am once again in the presence of Admiral Hernandez.

As soon as I become 'aware' of her presence, of course, I drop the piece and snap to the salute, as a slave is expected to do. Here on Jupiter Station, other personnel may sometimes be exempted from this expectation when they are busy in the act of performing their assigned duties, but we slaves have no such benefit.

She picks up the mechanism and examines it. Its pieces are minute, its construction intricate. Few Humans other than the most highly-trained engineers would have the ability to work on such a piece, but its importance to the medical device of which it is a part can hardly be overstated.

We are not alone in the room – several other technicians are present – but she ignores them as though they did not exist as she slips down the zip of my coverall and uncovers my breasts. My work partner, Fionnoula Morrissey, a Human ensign on her first duty post, sits facing me from the opposite end of the table we share as we assemble components; she turns bright red from the collar up, though she keeps her eyes averted as I am put on display. The admiral does not touch, but she looks for a moment before restoring me to respectability.

"Your abilities never cease to surprise me," she observes, releasing me from the salute. "Haven't you ever wondered if they might be better used elsewhere?"

"That is a moot question, Admiral. For a slave, at least." I am finally glad beyond measure that my master had the forethought to provide me with protection that even Admiral Hernandez would undoubtedly think twice about flouting. "In view of the fact that my services are required here, it would be idle to speculate on what opportunities might be available elsewhere."

"Commodore Tucker has a whole station of women available to him," she points out carelessly. "And he's paid enough now to buy a dozen Vulcan slaves to service him. I'm sure he'll be open to reason, and I can clear it with the Empress that he's had long enough to get tired of you."

"I am sure Commodore Tucker would be open to reason," I reply, keeping my voice as even as I can, "but you may not be aware that General Reed has recently appropriated my services."

This, I am sure, is news to her – and not welcome news. "You were given to the commodore as a personal gift by the Empress."

"And the commodore has never ceased to be duly grateful for the gift, Admiral. But he is outranked by the general, and could hardly refuse a loan when it was requested.

"My services were apparently so satisfactory that the general has requested that I be kept available for his use whenever he visits. And, when required," I add, "for the use of his … his partner, in his absence."

Hernandez's eyes have narrowed. "Then the general has discerning tastes. And I'm sure his partner found the experience a revelation, if she's going to borrow you in the meantime."

"I believe my services were satisfactory." There is nothing more I can safely add to that, so I simply bow my head.

"Then it would appear my interest in you is pointless." She shrugs, and leans closer, lowering her voice. "It's a pity. I told you once before you were wasted, and that was on Tucker."

She has no fear of my repeating this. What officer in the Empire would take the word of a slave against that of a Starfleet admiral?

"I am a slave, Admiral," I say, dry-throated. "My preferences are of no account."

With a second shrug, she steps back. "Please convey my respects to the General, when you service him next." Clearly, she does not include Lieutenant Cutler in that polite salutation.

Then she turns and walks out of the room, and I am finally free to draw an easy breath.

My protection has worked. For the moment.

But I do not think Admiral Hernandez appreciates being thwarted.

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