Chapter Six
Duty
When Forrest had left the bridge, Commander Archer resumed his place in the center chair, looking over the various stations surrounding him. He tried to keep his thoughts carefully guarded as he wondered just how long it would be before he would sit in this chair of right. Some day. That day was coming. He didn't know when, but….
Over the next few minutes, the rest of the Alpha Shift officers arrived and assumed their places. Each of them saluted Commander Archer upon arriving, in turn receiving the salutes of their lower ranking counterparts of Gamma shift. Then there were the usual reviews to run through, and still the Captain was notable in his absence. It was unusual for him to be away from his chair at this point, and the divergence from routine didn't go unnoticed.
In fact, it was the cause of a measure of unease, which concern grew more pronounced as the situation progressed.
x
When Maximilian Forrest stepped out of his Ready Room onto the Bridge, every officer aboard instantly knew he was not happy and the bridge crew held its collective breath. When the Captain wasn't happy, it usually meant that they were going to become very unhappy.
"Captain on the Bridge," Reed called punctiliously. Everyone snapped to attention and executed the Imperial Salute sharply and perfectly. No one was willing to appear slow or imprecise with the Captain in such an obviously foul mood.
"Commander; Mission Briefing in ten minutes." He strode off the Bridge, followed by his personal guard, and everyone on the bridge other than Archer and T'Pol breathed a carefully disguised sigh of relief.
x
In considerably less than the specified ten minutes time Major Malcolm Reed, Lt. Hoshi Sato, Commanders T'Pol, Charles Tucker and Jonathan Archer were assembled around the briefing table, waiting upon their Captain. None knew the reason for the man's temper, they only hoped that whatever had angered him might possibly miss hitting any of them.
Each sat waiting, carefully attentive and erect in their seats as the Captain entered, received the especially expert salutes of his Officers and took his place standing at the head of the table. The lighting, as dim here as throughout the rest of the ship, emphasized his dark mood.
x
"In a few hours we are scheduled to rendezvous with Dartmouth Station to take on supplies," Forrest said, his tone too sharp for the banal nature of the statement. He stood looking down at them, rather than speaking while seated, a very bad sign.
"What you do not know is that Dartmouth Station has been identified by Starfleet as a key point of dissident activities in this quadrant. It is believed that certain aliens use it as a meeting ground for spreading their discontent and dissension to members of their own and other races.
"We have been ordered to clean it out."
The fateful pronouncement hung in the air, and absolutely no one in the room wanted to touch it.
x
"I can have an Assault Team ready in a few minute's notice," Reed reported.
"We can beam in and capture, or liquidate, those individuals respon…" T'Pol's voice trailed off. She had actually hoped there was some moderating aspect to the Captain's order, though she knew that, dealing with Terrans, there would not be.
"How thorough is this cleansing operation to be?" Reed asked, eagerly anticipating a firefight. If there was anything in the universe Malcolm Reed enjoyed, it was blowing things up.
"Total, Major." If any of them had found the ramifications of this order hard the first time, this was no better. Normally there would be no reluctance at all, no second guessing - but this was Dartmouth Station.
"Starfleet is aware," T'Pol pointed out cautiously, "that Dartmouth station provides food and other essential resources gathered from Gamma Reticuli IV to ships from all over the quadrant. Many of these ships are unable to make planet-fall to gather resources from a land-based facility."
"They're aware, Commander, as am I." He told her tersely, warning her not to try his patience.
Starfleet had established Dartmouth Station about the rich and fertile planet of Gamma Reticuli IV because its gravity, over 2.75 times that of Earth, made landings and launches almost economically prohibitive. Since the establishment of the Station, supplied as it was by races used to dealing with heavy gravity planets and stocked by transporter, re-supply of vast numbers and varieties of ships had become both practical and profitable.
A vast array of ships, many of them part of the Imperial fleet, depended upon the rich and varied resources of the Station for essential supplies. Interruption of the smooth operation of the Station would be extremely inconvenient.
x
"Commander, what is the tactical capability of the Station?" Forrest knew his First Officer had researched this information as a matter of course.
"They have polarized hull plating, two phase cannons nearly ten years old and very limited torpedo capacity. They have no shields. They can usually depend upon the good graces of any number of ships that are docked for re-supply, and the fact that no one would be inclined to open fire on such a facility which enjoys the Protection of the Empire." It was the furthest even Commander Archer was willing to go in expressing his thoughts about this order. When he had reviewed the situation that morning, he had done so with the thought of re-familiarizing himself with a port he'd known well, not with thinking of it as a target.
Forrest turned to Reed. "You will send all MACOs as a Strike Force to beam aboard at key locations. You will remain on the bridge to deal with any ships docked at the station that wish to object." He just barely managed to keep the irony from his voice.
"Aye, sir." Normally Reed relished the chance to go up against any foe, regardless of race. In fact, he positively reveled in destruction, in the opportunity to blow things up, but this time the plan hit quite close to home indeed. "Are we to leave survivors?"
"Total cleansing, Major. Starfleet is very specific. If possible, try to avoid damaging the station itself too much. It will be re-staffed with approved crews, but the present contingent is suspect and forfeit. Furthermore, any ship docked at the station is to be considered 'suspect' and is to be excised."
"The station's compliment is 540." Archer reported. "The majority of these are Terran."
"You have your orders." He straightened. "Long live the Empire."
As one, the assembled officers snapped to Attention and executed the Imperial Salute. "Long live the Empire." They repeated in unison.
None would say what they felt. The words, this time, had a somewhat rancid flavor.
xx
When the other officers filed out to return to their duty stations, Forrest said; "Not you, Commander." When the door closed, Jonathan Archer turned to his Captain.
"Sir?" He tried to keep the hardness out of his eyes, but it was so ingrained into them he doubted he ever could erase the set.
"When this operation is over, by the end of the week I want us at some Imperial Planet. I don't care which one. When we arrive, I am putting all the slaves off the ship."
Archer was surprised. "May I know why, sir?"
"They're a security risk. But more important than that, their real danger is far more insidious, because the fall is something we're bringing upon ourselves."
"Sir?" This is the first time Archer had ever considered the concept of danger to the Empire coming from slaves.
"Our people are warriors, but they are growing soft. They grow used to the idea of having things done for them. Do you realize there are 14 slaves on this ship to serve the needs of 89 Imperials? That's nearly 1 in 6."
Archer doesn't consider 6 to 1 odds significant, not when the 1 is a broken and submissive slave, and wonders if Forrest is as strong as he used to be. Is this a hint that the time to strike is approaching?
x
"We have 2 classes of slaves," Forrest continues, unaware of his First Officer's opportunistic bent. "Those we do not openly treat as slaves, and those we do. We have members of serving races that serve the Empire, who are indoctrinated with the ideals of the Empire and service and loyalty to the Emperor. And then we have outright slaves, who we even distinguish by the manner of their dress. We outfit the women in short sleeveless gray dresses, gray vests and pants for the men. It's almost Roman."
"Sir?" Archer was taken by surprise by the divergence.
Forrest shook his head, disgusted. Could the man not have a better sense of history? Then again, did anyone he knew?
x
"The Roman Empire, the last great Empire of the first Epoch, fell because its people became decadent. They wanted slaves. It was a status symbol and a way of enhancing the household and making certain that things got done. And there were plenty of people in the surrounding lands to meet the demand. Eventually there was not a civilian home that didn't have all the slaves it could use – or more.
"And they did everything; every sort of job you can imagine, and usually a few you don't want to. Everything that was beneath the dignity of a Roman to do got shunted off to slaves, and you'll be amazed at how many things became beneath the dignity of a Roman.
"Eventually there was no household that didn't have three or four slaves. The richer households had more. Some boasted ten, twenty, thirty! Ultimately the slaves outnumbered their Masters' households by five to one, ten to one, twenty to one."
"But they were subjugated."
"They were Terran, with all the fire of our species," Forrest insisted, disgusted with the man's lack of vision. "That cannot be beaten out completely. And eventually the Romans learned just what twenty-to-one odds really meant. When the most technologically advanced weapon near to hand was a sword, numbers quickly make a big difference.
"So while the Roman Legions, the best fighting men on the planet, were off conquering new territories, at home Rome fell. By the time the Legions went home to find out why home was so quiet, all that was left was a deserted city filled with moldering corpses."
"And your point?"
Forrest frowned. Was the man completely without vision, even after all these years?
x
"The point, Commander, is that Starfleet is no better. It is one thing to staff these ships with serving members of subjugated races, men and women who are instilled with loyalty to the Empire and the Emperor. It's quite another to populate them with civilian slaves who we in turn treat as slaves. They do the menial jobs, but in time I wonder if our men and women won't forget how to do these jobs. And when that happens, who depends upon whom? You realize we don't even go get our own meals anymore? We have slaves for that – one of whom is so broken she may not live to be put off."
"And she's the only one of her kind," Archer said thoughtfully. It would be good to get more Aurans, but not if Forrest is around to see them put off.
"That's another thing. We have aliens aboard who are, every day, exposed to slaves of other alien races, but Terrans are the masters. Just how long will it be before they start getting ideas? There's talk of dissent even now in some sectors. The 'Avenger' had to put down a dissension on Coridan just last month."
"We have no slaves among the subjugated crew."
"No? We've three Vulcans serving aboard and a Mintakan female slave. How long a reach is it from Vulcan to proto-Vulcan?"
"Well, what are you going to do? Starfleet has approved this arrangement," Archer reminded him pointedly. Forrest said nothing. It was not well to criticize the Admiralty, not even behind closed doors.
"There are alternatives, Commander," he said finally. "It's just a matter of finding them. In the meantime, start making the arrangements. I don't care where they go, and I don't particularly care what happens to them when they get there. But I don't want them killed. I want them off this ship within the week, and a good price collected for them."