Chapter Eight
Trust?
"Captain, may I speak to you?" Commander T'Pol stood diffidently at the doorway of the Captain's Ready Room after that man had acknowledged her signal at the door, opening it by a button on his desk.
"Come in, Commander." Forrest said, letting her step past the door, which closed behind her. She tried to ignore the fact that one of Forrest's personal guards, Mayweather, had followed her into the room.
She took a step further, all her emotional control carefully in place, masking her expression and keeping tight rein on her other reactions, telling as they might otherwise be. It would not do well for the Terran to sense the concern she was feeling, beyond that which she wished to verbalize. She was taking enough of a chance just doing the latter.
"What is it, Commander?"
"Captain, I am concerned about our mission."
Forrest put down the stylus he'd been holding, giving the woman his attention. "Concerned?"
He regarded the Vulcan closely; the blue, two piece uniform of a female Starfleet officer which left her bare from just below her breasts to low down on her hips; the black bars on her shoulders with the three silver strips of a Commander; the way her pale brown hair fell long past her shoulders; the way she held herself carefully rigid and erect as if fearing the slightest softening of posture or manner. She was a typical soldier of the Empire. 'Just once', he thought, 'she should slouch.'
"Sir," she began as stiffly as her careful posture, "Dartmouth Station provides an essential service to the entire quadrant and I am… uncomfortable with Starfleet's order to kill everyone aboard."
"Uncomfortable?" he asked, giving her just enough to draw her out. He'd been as 'uncomfortable' about the order as she was, something he hadn't been able to hide well, but this order had come from Admiral John Black, who was someone it was not wise to cross – at least without knowing where one stood and who one's allies were.
x
T'Pol was frustrated. Forrest was very coyly not letting her see his own position, but was trying to draw her out, and that left her in a very precarious position. But she had already committed herself to this confrontation. "Sir, Starfleet has ordered us to kill everyone on the station, not even knowing who they are, or what plans the dissidents – if any – have made. No provision is made in our orders for Intelligence gathering. Thus, we will know no more when we are finished than we do now. Additionally, we are to destroy any ships present, again without knowing who will be there. Supposing it is another Imperial Battleship; are we really expected to fire upon it?"
Maximilian Forrest couldn't deny that these thoughts had been troubling him just as much ever since he'd received his orders; orders that had left no room for question or interpretation. But as he looked at his Vulcan Fourth-in-Command, he couldn't help but be cautious. Her questioning of Orders was not atypical; he had learned to put up with it because it usually provided some useful insight that made forbearance worth it. But she should be cautious; the day would come when he wasn't in the mood to tolerate questions.
But this situation was an extreme one, yet he couldn't avoid the thought that while it was not unnatural for the Vulcan, maybe it was also just a little too well timed.
He knew that the Admiral had placed someone on board who owed his allegiance to John Black long before he owed it to Maximilian Forrest. He didn't know who that was, though he had his suspicions. But he also had to allow for the possibility that it was not a 'he', but a 'she', or perhaps there was actually more than one….
"Commander, these orders come directly from the Admiralty, and are not open to question or interpretation," he told her firmly. "You will resume your station and perform your duties."
"Sir!" T'Pol snapped to even more rigid attention, saluting sharply; the striking of closed fist to her chest, and stiff armed extension of that fist. She about-faced and strode out of the office.
x
Outside the door, back on the Bridge, seeing that First Officer Archer had returned to the Bridge and resumed his place in the center chair, T'Pol returned to her Science Station. Outwardly she remained placid, composed, but inwardly she was shaken. She had really thought that she had sensed in the Captain a kindred spirit. She'd believed that he would see the illogic, the waste, in these orders. Clearly she had been wrong. The structure of the Terran Empire was more deeply ingrained into him than she had thought.
It had been a major tactical blunder on her part. She had gone in, confident that her assessment of him over the years they'd served together was such that he would see her point, but she had been wrong; horribly wrong. She had displayed a weakness to her Captain, one that in turn had weakened her position, perhaps fatally.
Only time would tell how much this blunder would cost her, but from this point on she had to be very careful indeed. She had come to think of Maximilian Forrest as a 'moderate', as a man who could be approached and reasoned with, perhaps even be trusted. Now she knew that some or all of that careful assessment was wrong. She had risked much of the stability of her position on an incorrect assessment, and she was sure she would soon have to pay the price.
The price could be anything from a loss of status to, while walking down a corridor some day, a knife between her ribs.
She looked with only her eyes, while facing a monitor at her station, to where Travis Mayweather had resumed his post in front of the Captain's sanctum next to his partner, and wondered when the day would come when he would be ordered to execute that sentence.
x
Maximilian Forrest stared contemplatively at the closed door to the bridge. Much, in fact all, of what the woman had said was troubling, and matched very closely his private thoughts. Starfleet's orders, Black's orders, were sheer madness. But they were also carved in stone.
But T'Pol, she of all people surprised him by coming to him openly with concerns that mirrored his. But was she a kindred spirit, someone he could trust, as he had thought? Or was she a spy for John Black, directed at this moment of stress to feel him out, to see if he was performing his duties in the 'right' manner, and if he was 'worthy' of his Command?
Could the Vulcan be trusted? The possibility of unknown spies was too real to ignore. He couldn't take chances.
Better to keep an eye on her, and keep her at arm's length, until he could be sure.
But, he thought somberly, could he ever be?
xx
Forrest sat for a long time behind his desk, thinking. He had already made his decision regarding his next course of action, but he reviewed the pertinent crew record very carefully one more time before pushing a button on his desk. A moment later the door slid open and Sergeant Travis Mayweather stepped in and saluted. "Go down to Engineering and bring Commander Tucker to me."
Again Mayweather saluted before leaving to carry out this assignment, leaving his partner on guard. He knew that if the Captain just wanted to speak to the Chief Engineer, he would have sent for him by intercom and that officer would have come. By sending Mayweather, the implication was clear as it had been so many times before; Mayweather should drag him up if necessary.
In less than five minutes the MACO Sergeant was back at the door with his parcel in tow. Receiving an acknowledgment to his signal, he stepped aside and allowed the man to enter ahead of him.
Tucker was not in a good mood, having been summarily summoned by a Sergeant in front of his crew, and brought up from Engineering.
Mayweather couldn't give a damn.
x
As the door closed, Tucker ignored the MACO behind him and saluted his Captain; the motion just a hair's breadth slow. It was precisely executed, textbook form; but there was still a shadow of insolence carefully disguised as precision. "You wanted to see me, Captain?" Again, the words were precise, no trace of his usual manner. There was no 'old home' relaxation in his syllables, they were precise and perfect. If the Captain wanted to make an issue of anything, it would have to be that Tucker was too correct and precise in his displays of respect.
Forrest regarded his Chief Engineer from behind his desk, drawing out the inspection, not saying a word, not changing his expression by one iota. He drew it out to the point where he could see Tucker start to have some misgivings, that maybe he was not as correct as he tried to show. Perhaps the Captain had something on him, perhaps he had slipped somewhere on his work, or personal life, or….
The more Forrest drew out this silent inspection, the more uncertain Tucker clearly became, and the more carefully the Engineer hid it. But his poise was definitely being undermined, even if nothing showed in his mask.
'Mask', Forrest thought. 'That would be appropriate. Perhaps Tucker should start wearing a mask….' He leaned back, locking eyes with the standing Officer. It was time. He preferred not to mince words, and subtlety was a lost art in the Empire. "Commander, I am concerned about having an Officer whose preferred method of sexual expression is rape."
x
So that was it, Tucker thought. Forrest had found out about this morning, and perhaps he did have an ongoing interest in the golden girl after all. Tucker's problem: was it enough of an interest for Forrest to make it an issue? "Why?" he asked, trying to assume the offensive while careful not to be offensive. "Do you care what happens to a slave?"
"Not particularly, since she and the other slaves won't be with us long."
"What?" This was just unexpected enough to undermine his confidence – again.
"I'm having them all put off the ship. Soon." Nothing in the Captain's tone invited comment or question. "I'm just making sure you know, because it seems that your options are soon going to be rather limited."
"Again, what do you care?" 'Come on, Captain,' he thought. 'Just push a little further; make it a personal issue.' But he knew the other would not. A personal issue could be replied to in kind, but Forrest wasn't going to be so foolish. He had, as always, the upper hand and he never gave it away.
"Again, I don't. Your recreational preferences are up to you. I don't give a damn about the slaves; they'll be gone soon and a tidy profit will come from them. And any Terran woman who can't handle herself deserves whatever she gets.
"Just a word to the wise, however: There are people who are indebted to people; and people who are liked by people. I'm sure you're familiar with this, as not everyone involved in these tangled webs is actually on board this ship. Injudicious actions have a way of coming back on one."
He leaned forward, and by his manner it was clear the friendly warning was at an end. "You were not my first choice for your job, Commander, nor are you the best one. You're competent, but if you fall afoul of the wrong party, my first choice is still out there."
"Yes, sir," Tucker said, his face as stony as his voice.
"Now get back to work. I don't want to be late to Dartmouth."
Tucker saluted, turned about, and stalked out of the room.