Title: Another Planet's Hell
Author: Sita Z
Rating: PG 13
AN: Thanks to Gabi, Ocean, The Libran Iniquity (the second possibility, I think -g-...), rebekah78, Luna, WhtevrHpnd2Mary, Rinne, highonscifi, Maraschino, lieutenants-lady, Tata, Eyes on Tactical (Danke ;-)!), stage manager, CordeliaBlack and KaliedescopeCat for reviewing!
Well, I know this is not a very "Christmassy" story (no kidding -g-), but still, to all my readers: Merry Christmas, and thank you so much for reviewing!
Hope you'll like Chapter 5! Please r&r!
Chapter 5
The shouts were deafening, and there was no way Trip could distinguish what the people were yelling. All he saw were eyes staring up at him and open mouths, mingling together in a gray mass of faces. He couldn't move, and didn't even feel it when the auctioneer laid a hand on his arm, calling out something to the crowd.
Trip couldn't tell how long he'd been standing there when the noise began to subside. Only a few people were still participating in the bidding, among them the man who had bought Malcolm. Trip saw the Lieutenant standing next to him and their eyes met for a brief moment, then Trip looked away again. Being exposed like this, he couldn't bear to look at the only person in that crowd who accepted him as a living, feeling being, and not merely as an article of trade. It only brought to his awareness how little dignity they still had left.
"2350 pakh!" a bidder in the front called, and Trip saw that the man couldn't be much older than himself. His face was flushed, and it was clear that he found the bidding exciting, as if it were a sporting event.
He was soon outbid by another, and in the end there were only two people left, a middle-aged man with a hard, thin mouth who had already bought two of the slaves auctioned off before Trip, and the man next to Malcolm.
The auctioneer was doing his best to prolong the bidding for as long as he could, but the Sar'veen with the hard mouth soon lost interest, and when his opponent raised his bid to 2420 pakh, he only gave him a disdainful look and turned away.
"2420!" the auctioneer called, and when no one reacted, he tightened his hand on Trip's arm. "Going once... twice... sold for 2420 pakh!"
Trip let himself be pushed towards the stairs, watched his feet walk down the steps, but he was hearing nothing, feeling nothing. A distant part of him realized that his new owner was the man who had bought Malcolm as well, and that this was something he should be glad of, but as he stepped down from the block his insides were frozen, numb with shame and abasement.
At the bottom of the stairs his buyer was waiting for him, taking him by the arm and pulling him away from the steps to make room for the next prisoner. As he stood next to Malcolm, Trip watched the man hand the captain a small chip, obviously some kind of electronic check form. The captain inserted the chip into a padd, and nodded in satisfaction when he looked at the display.
"Thank you, sir." He smiled. "I'm sure you'll find yourself most satisfied. They're both top quality, and I dare say you got your money's worth."
"Well, I hope so," the man replied dryly, then turned around with a brief wave of the hand in their direction. "Come, you two."
He walked off without looking back, and they followed, quickening their pace to keep up with the man. Trip threw Malcolm a glance from the corner of his eye, and to his surprise the Lieutenant met his eyes, his lips curving upward in a very faint smile. It was the fact that Malcolm was smiling for the first time in over a week that broke through his numbness, and Trip nodded, finally allowing himself to feel glad and relieved that they were still together. When they passed the last rows of buyers, Trip's eyes fell on Lu'Vis who stood a few meters away, next to the elderly woman who had bought her. The woman had already freed her of the handcuffs, and Lu'Vis was rubbing her wrists, her dark eyes wrinkling in an almost-smile when she saw him.
"Good luck," she said quietly, just loud enough for him to hear. Trip answered her smile, and to his surprise he found that it wasn't even that hard.
They left the hall through a different door than before, one that led into a short corridor. At the end of the hallway there was an airlock, looking quite similar to the one back on Enterprise. The armed guard next to the passage nodded at their buyer, then pressed a panel on the wall to open the lock. On entering the gateway, Trip noticed that the wall paneling of the passage and the frame of the airlock merged smoothly into one another, so that there was no way to tell where the ship ended and the passageway began. The Sar'veen technology seemed to be a lot more advanced than Starfleet standard, at least where starship construction was concerned.
As they left the gateway, Malcolm and Trip involuntarily stopped in their tracks. They were standing in one of the largest halls they had ever seen, separated into dozens of levels that were connected by stairs and chutes of glass and metal which Trip recognized as a very advanced form of turbolifts. The whole gigantic construction was lit by hundreds of fluorescent tubes, and there were masses of people coming and going on every level, their voices echoing in the hall and joining the pandemonium of sound, light and color. Trip saw restaurants and shops, a place three levels below that seemed to be a public swimming pool, huge garden areas filled with alien plants of all shapes and colors, and hundreds of doors and bulkheads leading away into all directions. After all those days in a cramped cargo hold where all you ever saw were the faces of the other prisoners and the guards, the sensory stimulation was too much, and Trip turned his eyes away. In the wall next to the airlock there was a huge window, and outside he could see shuttles and small ships passing by, most of them coming from or headed for the planet below.
"Come on!"
Their buyer's voice brought him back to the present. The man had come to a halt a few meters ahead, looking back at them with an expression of mild exasperation. He waited for them to catch up with him, and to his surprise Trip saw that the corners of his mouth were twitching slightly.
"Never seen something like that before, huh?" he asked, and continued before either of them could answer, "I find it pretty impressive myself, every time I see it. Second-largest space station we've ever built."
Trip stared at him, perplexed by the affable tone of the statement. The guards had only ever shouted at them - except for the one time when Kher'van had offered him extra rations in exchange for some time spent in the crew's quarters - and so far Trip had thought that the Sar'veen weren't in the habit of talking to their slaves. Their buyer, however, continued to chat as they followed him down the corridor, but for all he was talking, he didn't seem to expect an answer to his comments.
"Some people say the government's wasting their budget, spending so much money on space travel, but I think it's a good thing. For example this station - people've been complaining for years that the construction swallowed up their tax money, and now it's one of the most-used trading centers of the system. Those reactionaries are the ruin of this nation, that's what I say."
He seemed to warm to the subject, but Trip was too tired and confused to listen. He glanced at Malcolm who was trudging along next to him, and saw his own confusion mirrored on the Lieutenant's face. He had no idea why the Sar'veen was telling them about these things, and he didn't really care, either. At least the man was only talking politics, and not hitting them or asking if they were interested in better food.
They passed several shops selling various sorts of toiletries (or at least Trip thought they did - some of the articles displayed in the windows were completely alien to him), and finally came to a halt in front of one of the turbolift chutes.
When they entered the lift, the Sar'veen was still talking, now explaining in detail what he thought of the latest changes in the Financial Department. It was a rather surreal conversation for the man seemed to be talking to himself, never even taking a break to look if they were listening. Briefly, Trip wondered what kind of person would buy two people at an auction and then expect them to be interested in his opinion of current politics, but then he shrugged off the thought. During their time in the cargo hold, his mind had started to divide everything that happened into "threatening" and "non-threatening", and this was, while rather confusing, definitely non-threatening.
Still, he felt almost relieved when the lift came to a halt. This time they entered a hangar, very large but by far not as spacious as the main hall of the station, which had been at least twenty times as big.
There were dozens of small crafts and vessels lined up on the floor, the huge airlocks at the end of the hangar opening and closing on a steady basis so the shuttles could come and go. Their buyer led them past the rows of ships until he stopped in front of a small vessel. It was about the size of shuttlepod I - even the streamlined design was somewhat familiar - but Trip had to take only one look at it to see that this ship was warp-capable. And he suspected it could take on Enterprise anytime, probably even go faster than her without straining its engines too much. He saw Malcolm's eyes widen, and knew that the Lieutenant had noticed as well.
The Sar'veen never saw their surprised looks. He had opened a hatch on the shuttle's side, and was now motioning at the opening with a slightly impatient gesture.
"What are you waiting for? Come on, get inside."
Moving awkwardly with their hands tied behind their backs, they climbed inside. Except for the pilot chair the shuttle had no seats, and the loading space in the back was half filled with various boxes and containers. The Sar'veen had stopped his running commentary on politics and was now looking around as though considering where it would be best to have them seated during the flight.
"Sit down here." He gestured at a space between the helm and one of the containers. It wasn't easy, lowering themselves to the floor without using their hands for support, but they managed. Once they were sitting, the Sar'veen pulled out two larger pairs of cuffs which he fit around their ankles. Trip watched him tie the straps that were attached to the cuffs to a bar on the wall, and let out a small sigh. He was getting rather tired of being locked up, handcuffed or otherwise restrained in his freedom most of the time.
The Sar'veen went to sit down in the pilot chair, and began to work the navigation controls. From his position on the floor Trip could only see a small part of the hangar outside, but the hum of the boosted engines and the following slight shudder told him that the shuttle had taken off. The Sar'veen steered them into one of the airlocks, and after only a minute the interior of the hangar was replaced by the stars.
As soon as they had left the airlock, the man switched the navigation to autopilot and turned around in his seat to face his two newly acquired slaves.
"So...," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "What are you called? I hope your names are not some of those terrible alien tongue-twisters; in that case I'm going to change them. I'm horrible at memorizing names."
He grinned. A short pause followed, and Trip, who felt that some kind of reaction was in order, decided to begin.
"I'm Charles Tucker," he introduced himself.
The man raised an eyebrow at him. "Sir," he said.
Trip hesitated for a moment. "Charles Tucker, sir," he repeated then.
The Sar'veen looked at Malcolm. "And you?"
"Malcolm Reed, sir."
The man rubbed his chin, considering. "Charles Tucker and Malcolm Reed. Well, that's not too bad. I guess I'll be okay as long as I call you Tucker and Reed. I just have to be careful I don't mix you up. You look so alike."
That was a new one. Trip, who had never before been told that he looked anything like Reed, exchanged a glance with Malcolm and saw that the Lieutenant was surprised as well.
"Or maybe it's just that pink skin," the Sar'veen added as an afterthought. "By the way, I'm Orven. But you don't call me that. You call me sir," he shot Trip a pointed look, "or master. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," they muttered, and Trip knew that he was going to have to use the word "sir" a lot, for he would never call another man "master", not when he still had a say in the matter.
"I take it," Orven continued, "that you haven't been slaves all your life?"
"No, sir," they replied in unison, and Trip saw Malcolm raise his chin as he answered, looking the man straight in the eyes. Orven didn't notice or decided to ignore their challenging tone, letting out a small sigh.
"So I'll have to start the training business all from square one. But I think we're going to get along just fine if you don't give me any trouble, and obey the rules."
He paused, waiting. "Yes, sir," they said, and Orven continued.
"Good. Now listen up. I'm only going to say this once, and I expect you to keep it in mind. First, I expect you to do exactly as I say. No arguing, no backtalk. On K'tera, a slave only speaks when spoken to, and that's what you're going to do, too. If you do have something to say, then you're going to ask for my permission to speak.
Then, I want you to keep yourselves clean. I have no idea if you're used to washing on a regular basis, brushing your teeth or using a bathroom, but you're going to have to get used to it."
Malcolm raised his head at that, his cheeks flushed with anger. "We're-"
"What did I tell you, Reed?" Orven interrupted sharply. "You speak only when spoken to. If you're used to these things, it's just as well. My customers expect to be served by clean, well-groomed servants, and you're going to see to it that you are exactly that." He paused. "Alright. I expect you to work hard, and not be lazy or do a sloppy job. I paid a lot of money for the two of you, and if I catch you lazing around, you're going to be in trouble. Understood?"
He waited for their muttered "yes, sir" before he continued.
"You're not going to leave the property without my permission. And keep out of trouble. I don't care if you get it on with the housemaids next door or find another way of having it off, just - keep out of trouble.
And now listen closely." He looked from one to the other. "If I ever catch one of you stealing something - no matter what it is - then I'm going to give him a whipping he won't soon forget. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Orven turned back to the navigation controls. "It's about time I got new waiters. I had a Vulcan but he died three months ago; some sort of virus, I have no idea. Then my brother borrowed me two of his slaves, but they were lazy bastards, never lifting a finger as soon as I turned my back to them. I had to close down for a few weeks, but with a little bit of luck I'll be able to reopen the day after tomorrow."
He continued talking about how he hoped to get back into business with several new recipes he had found, but Trip soon stopped listening to what he was saying. Orven obviously had a great need to communicate, but didn't really care if the people he was talking to were interested or not. The fact that they were not allowed to speak unless someone asked them a question was very convenient in this case, since Orven did not ask any questions and they were spared from commenting politely on his ongoing monologue.
Trip leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, for the first time realizing how tired he was. The shock of being sold had worn him out mentally and physically, and his metabolism was still affected by the drugs. It was difficult not to doze off, but something told him that he had to stay awake in this new, unfamiliar environment. Forcing himself to open his eyes again, he looked at Malcolm and saw that the Lieutenant's eyes were drooping as well. Still, he preferred a sleepy Malcolm to the man back in the cargo hold who had lain with his eyes open for hours at a time, not moving and not responding when Trip asked him if he was okay. The fact that Malcolm had protested when Orven doubted their hygienic habits raised Trip's hopes that the Lieutenant was going to be alright. To Malcolm, a well-groomed appearance was an integral part of his self-image as an officer and gentleman, and seeing him protest when someone questioned that image told Trip that his friend hadn't given up completely yet.
Orven was still rattling on about his business plans, and Trip found himself amazed at how much that guy could talk without ever taking a break or a breath. In a way, he found himself confused by the man. The guards, while openly cruel and even sadistic, had been less difficult to deal with. As long as you avoided them the best you could and kept a low profile, you got by fairly well. Orven, however, was different. He clearly did not regard them as equals, and on the other hand talked to them as if they were old pals, ordered them not to speak without permission and at the same time chatted on about his personal life like they were the only people who would listen. Which, Trip realized, might well be the case. Orven did look like someone who led a fairly lonely life.
"... or don't you think so, Tucker?"
Trip had no idea what the man had been talking about, but thought it might be best to agree. "Yes, sir."
"See, even you think so, although you probably don't know a thing about business management. It's just a common sense thing, but tell that to the city council..."
He went on about the council's lack of foresight, but Trip wasn't listening anymore. The shuttle had entered the planet's atmosphere, and he saw white streaks of clouds passing by outside, which after a while were replaced by a blue sky. It wasn't exactly the azure of the sky back on Earth, a little darker and with a soft, moss-green tint, but the similarity was still there. A touch of homesickness broke through Trip's weariness, and he quickly pushed it away before his thoughts could turn to the people back on Enterprise. It wouldn't be a good idea to think of that now.
The shuttle descended further, and soon the planet's surface appeared in the small part of the front window which they were able to see from their position. Trip saw green and yellow patches, presumably fields, and scattered settlements which after a while made way to a city. A very large city. At first, they passed houses with only ten or fifteen floors, but it was only a matter of time until he saw skyscrapers at least a hundred stories high, maybe more. What was even more surprising was how aesthetically pleasing most of those buildings were, forming a sharp contrast to the bulky office blocks Trip associated with the metropoles back on Earth. He was baffled how someone could build such curved constructions and fragile-looking passageways without running the risk of the whole building coming down again. Clearly, the Sar'veen had reached a designing level far more advanced than the architectural standard back on Earth. The smooth surface of the buildings reflected the sun, and Trip squinted, momentarily dazzled by the blinding brightness.
They didn't pass as many shuttles and aircrafts as he would have expected, and it was clear that there was no need for a controlled traffic system. The shuttle was still running on autopilot, and Orven only threw an occasional, brief glance at the helm controls. By now, they had flown past the highest of the skyscrapers, but the city seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. Trip threw a brief glance at Malcolm and saw that the Lieutenant's earlier sleepiness had vanished, his face a mixture of astonishment and disbelief as he looked out the window.
Orven never wasted a second look on the panorama, still intent on the subject of the city's business management or lack thereof. They had left the last of the skyscrapers behind, and were now approaching an industrial area, huge windowless factory buildings side by side with identical-looking warehouses.
"There we are," Orven interrupted his business talk, and Trip saw that he had switched the navigation back to manual control. He flew a wide arc, and after passing several huge, shabby-looking apartment houses initiated the landing approach. Again, the shuttle shuddered slightly as it made contact with the ground. Outside, Trip could only see gray stonewalls, apparently a backyard of some kind. Orven fumbled with the helm controls for a moment, then swung around in his chair and got up.
"Alright," he said, "time's a-wasting, it's late in the afternoon and we still need to unload all that stuff before it gets dark." He waved at the boxes and containers in the back. "Can't leave it in the shuttle over night, some of the fruit needs to be kept in stasis."
He crouched down to take off their restraints, then shoved the cuffs carelessly under the pilot seat.
"Come on, get up."
Slowly, they got to their feet, using the wall for support. Trip blinked to get rid of the giddy feeling that washed over him; he was still tired, and it was at least twelve hours ago when he had last had something to eat. Malcolm looked rather exhausted as well, but Orven never noticed. He had already opened the hatch, and was now checking his cargo in the back, counting the various boxes and crates.
"Alright," he said when he was finished. "Tucker, you start unloading those boxes in the front, and stack them up next to the back door; and you, Reed, take the small crates. Yes, the black ones. Be careful, those are glassware."
When Trip climbed out of the shuttle, carrying the first of at least twenty heavy boxes, he saw that they had indeed landed in a small, dirty backyard. It was surrounded by gray walls, at least three meters high, and littered with old wrapping paper, pieces of wooden crates and other, unidentifiable trash. On one side there was the back of a two-story brick building with several windows, gray with dust and dirt, and a metal back door.
He set the box down next to the door, careful not to step on any of the scattered glass shards on the ground. They hadn't been given shoes when the guards had handed out the clothes before the auction, and so he and Malcolm were still barefoot. It was rather cold, and the stony ground felt icy under his feet.
They spent the next half an hour unloading the cargo. Orven made no move to help them, but he didn't get angry either when Trip stumbled and dropped the box he was carrying. He only told him to be more careful, and even helped him pick it up again.
When they were done (by now they were both shaking with cold), Orven unlocked the backdoor which led to a spacious storage room. He ordered them to carry the boxes inside, and then had them unpack the fruit and store it away in a large stasis unit that already contained various drinks and foodstuffs. Again, Trip was fascinated with the technology, but there was no time to get a closer look at it. Orven told them to hurry, he wanted the rest of the supplies to be stored away as well before evening.
It took them at least two and a half hours to unpack and stow away the alien foodstuff, not least because Orven decided more than once that he wanted the whole contents of one shelf moved to another, for logistic reasons, as he said. When the last cans were finally stowed away, all Trip wanted to do was lie down on the floor and go to sleep right here and now. The hunger made him dizzy, and in his weakened condition the lifting and carrying of heavy weights only added to his overall exhaustion. Malcolm wasn't much better off; Trip saw the Lieutenant's hands tremble when he put away the last of the now-empty boxes.
Orven, on the other hand, seemed to be wide awake and more talkative than ever; he rambled on and on, not noticing that both of his slaves were on the verge of collapsing with exhaustion.
He opened a door that led into the house and directly into a large, rather filthy-looking kitchen unit. Trip was still awake enough to notice that there was no stove, not even a microwave oven, but Orven soon explained why.
"Most of the meals on the menu are replicated," he said. "I only serve the fruit, vegetables, and bread fresh. So when someone orders, for example, k'ven, you simply enter the name of the meal into the replicator." He pointed at a large serving unit on the wall. It reminded Trip somewhat of the resequencer back on Enterprise, except for the fact that it had three sliding doors instead of only one, each provided with a small display and a keyboard with alien letters. When he noticed their looks, Orven raised his eyebrows at them.
"You do know how to read and write, don't you?"
He'd directed the question at Malcolm, who blushed slightly. "We-" he began, and Trip assumed he wanted to tell Orven that they did know how to read and write, but were unfamiliar with these letters. The Sar'veen, however, cut him off with a weary gesture. "Of course you don't," he sighed. "Why should you? But you'll have to memorize at least the meals on the menu; I don't have the time to stand in here all day and type in the names for you. I'm going to teach you tomorrow how to read them; it's not exactly legal, but you're not going to tell anyone about it, are you?"
"No, sir," they muttered, and Trip found he was too tired to think about the implications of Orven's last remark.
"Alright," Orven said. "It's getting late, and I still have a few calls to make before I turn in. Are you hungry?" he added as an afterthought, the thought apparently occurring to him for the first time.
"Yes, sir," they answered. Orven took a bag filled with small, greasy-looking pastries out of a cupboard, and handed it to Trip, then gave Malcolm a plastic bottle half-filled with water. The food looked as if it were at least a few weeks past its pull date, but Trip still felt his stomach clench with hunger at the sight.
After Orven had told them that he was going to show them around the house and the restaurant tomorrow - "we'll have to clean up in there, anyway" - they left the kitchen through a second door and followed him up a narrow staircase to the second floor of the building. The stairs ended in a dark corridor crammed with empty cardboard boxes and all sorts of discarded furniture. Pushing some of the boxes aside, Orven opened a door to the left.
"This is where you're going to sleep," he said.
The room was small and had only a small window directly below the ceiling. The walls were covered with an old, pale yellow wallpaper which was coming off in some places, and there was no furniture except for a chair, a cardboard box in the corner and two mattresses on the floor. A small tube embedded in the ceiling was the only light source in the room, giving off a dim glow.
"There's a servants' bathroom next door," Orven said. "As I said, I expect you to keep yourselves clean. If I notice you're not taking a shower at least once every other day, there's going to be trouble. I can't have my servants stinking to high heaven. You're going to have to use that," he pointed at a bucket in the corner, "since I'm going to lock the door overnight. But during the daytime I expect you to use the bathroom like civilized people, understood? If I notice you're doing your business somewhere outside, you'll catch it. Is that clear?"
He waited for their confirmation, then continued, "Well, you'd better get some shut-eye now. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow."
He closed the door behind them, and Trip heard the soft clicking of an electronic lock. When Orven was gone, they stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds, then, surprisingly, Malcolm opened his mouth.
"I'm bloody starving," he said.
Trip smiled faintly in response, and they sat down on one of the mattresses each, placing the bag with the pastries on the floor between them. Before they could start to eat, however, the door opened again, and Orven was back.
"I found these for you," he said, dumping two gray blankets on the floor and closing the door again before either of them had the chance to react.
By now, Trip's stomach was cramping with hunger. He reached out and put one of the pastries in his mouth, finding that it tasted greasy - which was not surprising - and rather sweet. They emptied the whole bag in less than three minutes, washing down the sticky food with water from the plastic bottle. Neither of them talked while they ate, and even though his stomach protested mildly against the unfamiliarly heavy food, Trip relished the feeling of finally eating food that wouldn't leave him feeling dizzy and tired all over.
When they were done, they sat there for another while, and Trip felt like he ought to say something, start a conversation, but he was simply too tired. After a few minutes he got up and picked up the blankets Orven had brought.
"I think I'm gonna hit the sack," he said, handing Malcolm one of the blankets. The Lieutenant smiled a little in response, and Trip was glad to see it. Back on the slave ship, Malcolm had withdrawn completely into himself, but it seemed like the change of environment had wrought a change in the Lieutenant's behavior as well.
They spent a few minutes searching for a switch or button to turn off the ceiling lamp, but there was none, and so they lay down with the light still burning, too tired to really care. As he lay wrapped up in his blanket, Trip found the events of the day passing before his mental eye in a random fashion, the different scenes mingling together in one confusing chaos of faces, sounds and images. His thoughts returned to the auction, but he quickly repressed those scenes, having decided that he wanted to forget about that one hour of his life as quickly as possible and never think of it again. Briefly, he wondered where Enterprise was now; if there was anyone still looking for them out there. But thinking of that hurt as well, and soon Trip allowed himself to doze off, willingly succumbing to the sleep that was tugging at the edges of his mind.
TBC...
Please let me know what you think!