CHAPTER WARNING: This chapter contains a brief but graphic depiction of violent non-consensual sex which some might find worthy of an M rating. If that's not your cup of tea, you can skip the bit between the horizontal lines and not miss any essential plot points. It also begins with a brief, oblique depiction of lesbian sex which is also non-consensual due to the disparity in power making it impossible for the victim to refuse. If you prefer not to read that, skip all the way to the second horizontal line, and you will still be able to follow the main plot of the story.

Chapter Thirty-six
Encounter with an Emperor

T'Pol

"I'd always heard Vulcans bear grudges." The dark eyes of Admiral Erika Hernandez gleam up at me, their hard shine like chips of coal. "I'll be honest, I hadn't had you down as one of them."

"What you heard was correct, Admiral." I shift slightly, eliciting a soft groan. "We have exceptional memories."

"And exceptional stamina."

"As I believe you have discovered."

It has taken me some years to work my way up to my present position in the Imperial hierarchy. As a mere Vulcan slave, I have been (and still am, in many quarters) looked down upon and often mistrusted. But the quality of my work is indisputable, and whilst as a slave I cannot hold a military rank, promotion or something like it has come in other forms – largely because it is widely known that I earned Hernandez's gratitude for my work, and particularly for my efforts to discredit ex-Commodore Tucker in the eyes of the mob during his trial; and, even though I am still a slave and can be executed at a word from my mistress, I have the power to call upon that gratitude if I am unfairly denied what I have earned.

She has retained her title of 'Admiral', and has some influence, though not nearly as much as she would have possessed had Austin Burnell not stepped up to the throne. Nevertheless, although I am careful never to even hint at it, I know that effectively she is a raptor who wears bells and jesses. Her claws may be sharp and cruel to those within their grasp, but she is flown only at chosen targets, and once the kill is made, she returns tamely to the fist beneath the gauntlet; and to the man who wears it, she is effectively as much a slave as I am.

I have never had cause to call upon her gratitude. I have worked hard. I have risen in the world, despite my lowly status. And there was every probability that on an occasion such as this, when the great and the good – I use that word advisedly – gather to celebrate some Earth festival or other with an excess of food and drink, the clothes I can afford to wear these days would draw me to her attention in ways other than that of a paid informer.

The Emperor humors her now and then. On such occasions, slaves are made available to provide sexual services to the guests, and I am, after all, a slave. So, I can guess that it is with his permission that she has taken me to one of the rooms set aside, which are equipped with various items that Humans enjoy introducing into their sexual activities.

No doubt some of her summons was driven by the memory of our previous encounter, or perhaps curiosity as to whether I had changed in the intervening time. Humans are often intrigued by the idea of what cloaks of dignity and self-control will fall from a Vulcan naked in bed; in particular they have no equivalent of our pon farr, the ramifications of which fascinate them to a quite illogical degree.

I know perfectly well how I am expected to behave on these occasions. I have to behave like a Vulcan dignitary until the precise moment that I am touched intimately, at which point it is my duty to melt into behavior which even in the heats of pon farr another Vulcan would find grotesquely excessive. It never ceases to surprise me that Humans find this completely credible, to the point where they would feel positively cheated if it did not happen.

To do her justice, Admiral Hernandez is a woman of exceptional intelligence. With this in mind, I again keep my performance relatively moderate. And I am well accustomed to feigning, but on this occasion, I find little need to do so. For one thing, I suspect that she would very quickly detect it, and for another, I feel genuine excitement that I may be coming close to achieving the goal for which I have worked so long and patiently. During the early part of my enslavement to then-Commander Tucker he regularly involved me in multi-partner encounters for his entertainment, so none of this is new to me; I am perfectly at home using sex toys of various types, and I am satisfied of my skills in once again reducing this still influential woman to a purring cat on the satin sheets. At least this time I suspect she will not risk introducing the services of another slave – for all that I am still only a slave, now my usefulness has been established it would be risky, even for her, to injure or even kill me for no better reason than sado-voyeurism.

It is not only the physical aspects of sex that excite her. I have previously discovered how much she enjoys inflicting pain, and she also enjoys talking. I am unsurprised when she refers to her previous conquest, then-Commodore Tucker, and suggests that but for the fact the conditions of his imprisonment prevent it, she is sure that I would like to join her in renewing our acquaintance with him – this time with the power on our side.

Naturally I see and avoid the subtle trap of claiming to have any power at all, even over a powerless prisoner, but I agree that such an encounter would be most enjoyable, and that it is a pity that it could not be arranged.

Hernandez, of course, can have no idea that my aim is not to join her in torturing him, but to achieve his removal from a prison so secure that it is accurately described as impregnable. Only let us get him outside his walls, and we have our chance…

I give her time to consider my professed longing for revenge upon my former master. To prevent her thinking too deeply on the subject, I move a little more, and a little more. She groans again. Her long dark hair is loose and tangled on the white satin.

If I were Human I would probably be taken by surprise by her next move, but the infinitesimal tensing of her muscles against mine gives me enough warning, though I squeal with well-simulated shock as she rolls me over and takes charge.

There is no need to simulate the tremors that wake low in my groin. I surrender to them. It is not her hands pinning my wrists, but Trip's.

Hernandez does not speak High Vulcan. To her ears my cries are an exotic jumble of arcane words, driving her on to her own climax.

I do not know what alerts me to the fact that we are not alone in the room. It is not something to which I have any right to object; others may well choose to watch sexual activity and join in, or take their turn with the hapless slave afterwards, having been excited by what they have seen. But I snatch the smallest and quickest of glances, and see that our visitor is not someone whom I probably need expect to be called upon to service. The Emperor is well known to be homosexual by inclination, and apart from the obligatory requirements of coupling with his Empress, generally prefers male mates.

He neither speaks nor moves, simply stands there watching, his head slightly on one side. Then, to my surprise, he moves forward onto the bed, parts his robes and penetrates Admiral Hernandez's back passage.

He has made no effort to prepare her. It is obviously not only unexpected, but extremely painful; but he neither heeds her stifled cries nor spares her suffering, driving hard into her until he achieves satisfaction. The strange thing is that although his breathing gives him away, his expression hardly changes, and throughout – the most worrying thing of all – he is looking at me.

Naturally this activity has ramifications for me. I continue to feign enjoyment since it is probably expected of me, but behind my mask I am thinking furiously.

Afterwards, he dismisses her with a gesture. She dresses and leaves the room, moving awkwardly as though hurt internally – a prospect that fails to conjure up any sympathy in me, remembering the night she summoned Trip to her bed aboard the Revenge and all but killed him there.

Now, I am alone with the Emperor, naked and vulnerable. He has presumably come in here for something, but has he had everything he wants? And if not, what does he want from me?

Has he heard what Hernandez and I were discussing with regard to former Commodore Tucker? He is a subtle and a clever man. He had far more time than she could ever have done to watch how the ex-Commodore and I interacted on Jupiter Station. He saw me administer a mind meld to save Trip's sanity. He saw how I was allowed to walk and work on the station in uniform, almost like a free Human save for the word 'Slave' on my clothes to both mark me out and protect my master from accusation of undue favor. He saw that we ate together in the Mess, and that once I was allowed to sit and eat at the same table as the former General Reed and Lieutenant Cutler, and take part in a conversation almost as though I was their equal.

There is simply no guidance in protocol when you are a slave in this situation. I am well aware I should be prostrate in front of him, but I do not know what is required of me, and any word or movement may give offense.

Gathering my dignity as best I may, I slip from the bed and stand before him, my head bowed. I expect him to turn and walk away, but he does not.

"You were on Jupiter Station," he observes. As he was there at the same time, acting as Head of Security, and we actually interacted on more than one occasion, it is a superfluous observation, but I am not about to point that out.

"Yes, your Imperial Majesty."

I do not dare lift my eyes, but I am conscious of his considering regard.

"You were given to former Commodore Tucker as a reward for his work reverse-engineering the Defiant," he continues at last. Once again this was common knowledge at the time, but I do not remark on that fact.

"Yes, your Imperial Majesty."

"And you were one of the chief witnesses against him at his Court Martial."

"Yes, your Imperial Majesty."

He contemplates me for a while longer.

"Another chief witness, the one who reported his activities to Admiral Hernandez, was found dead in her apartment recently."

"So I believe, Your Imperial Majesty." The details were not made public, though rumor has it that those who found the body required prolonged counseling afterwards. However gruesome it might have been, however, the death aroused little sympathy. Whispers I have heard suggest that it was regarded as merely a well-earned reward for her betrayal. Despite my best efforts at discrediting the accused, my motive for testifying against him was understandable; if my testimony was true, I had ample reason to wish to destroy him. That of a woman whom he had trusted and rewarded, however, came across as treacherous, and she was widely disliked for it – the more so as the details of his honest and benevolent dealings with the expropriated funds and materiel had been widely circulated after his arrest and trial, and the poor who had benefited from them were abruptly deprived of support.

"Despite any lack of evidence, or success in tracing the murderer, it's suspected that her death was a revenge attack by one of the former commodore's loyal supporters," the Emperor continues suavely. "I saw for myself how gifted Tucker was at attracting them, and apparently even in our most secure prison facility he still does."

'Apparently he still does'. Those words make Trip into a danger to the Empire, and this is something that cannot be tolerated. And although the official announcement had carefully avoided any suggestion that Chastain's death was anything other than a tragic accident, his use of the word 'murderer' confirms that it was nothing of the kind.

"His work for the Empire was invaluable," he continues. "It was – unfortunate – that he chose to dabble in treason."

I should parrot the words of agreement yet again, but I cannot. "With the greatest respect, your Imperial Majesty, Mister Tucker was convicted of breaking the law, not of committing treason."

I hear the words with terror. One does not contradict the Head of the Terran Empire.

Once more his head tilts slightly to the side. When I dare glance up, his eyes are bright with what looks like amused curiosity, and the faintest of smiles plays on his mouth. He may kill me here and now (and I know he is fully capable of it), or he may order me taken to the guardroom and handed over to be a plaything there. No doubt what would follow would teach me respect for my betters, before death was a merciful release. "But according to your testimony, he gave you little reason to think kindly of him."

"I was his slave, Your Imperial Majesty. He had the right to use me as he chose."

"A strange slave – who defends her master against false accusation." And, he leaves unsaid, saves his life after an assault, putting her own safety in hazard to do so.

"Even a slave, Your Imperial Majesty, may have some feeling for justice."

It feels utterly unreal. I had little interaction with this man when he was simply Colonel Burnell, then-General Reed's deputy and representative, but even then, I would not have dared to effectively accuse him of injustice. Now he is the Emperor, and I have dared to contradict and then accuse him, and I am still alive.

Then, with a blur of movement, he is upon me like a ravening wolf. As one hand goes into a pocket in his robes, the other squeezes tightly around my throat making it difficult to breathe, let alone swallow back the bitter taste of adrenaline as it floods my mouth, and it takes every micron of my emotional control to quash the urge to resist as he forces me back into the wall so hard I grunt involuntarily as the air is forced from my lungs. I may yet survive this attack, but if I fight back, I will surely die. Then, his hand emerges from his robes with a hypospray, which he presses with bruising force against the bone of my mandible, just below my left ear.

The small hiss as he injects the hypospray seems echoingly loud so close to my ear, and whatever substance he introduces into my body seems to writhe and crawl under my skin with the heat of a plasma burn. He releases his grip on my throat, and I collapse to the floor, nearly fainting from lack of oxygen. I need a moment to catch my breath, but as the pain from the injection site intensifies and spreads to engulf first my face, and then my neck, head, and shoulders, my self-control shatters, and instead of simply breathing, I am screaming.

Through tears of agony that I cannot stop, I see the Emperor looking down at me. His head is again cocked quizzically to one side as if he is scientifically monitoring and recording my reaction to the injection. Slowly, over the course of minutes that feel like days, the pain simultaneously dissipates at the edges of the affected area and concentrates on the spot where the hypospray contacted my skin. Finally, the pain at the injection site begins to ease, and as I lie here, moaning softly, I am able once again to force myself to take long, deep breaths.

I don't know what to do. As a slave, I don't even have the right to ask what substance he has injected into me or what I can expect it to do to me, but I don't dare to continue lying in this reclining posture at his feet. Paying obeisance is always a safer course of action, if not entirely safe, so I turn over onto my stomach, pull my knees up under me, turn so I am facing him, press my forehead to the floor and stretch my arms out toward him like a crawling vine seeking the sun.

After a few moments, he asks me, "Are you able to stand?"

Though I'd very much prefer to stay here and meditate for a while, I know very well that the question has nothing to do with either my ability to get to my feet or my desire to do so. It's merely a reflection of the Emperor's flawless manners. There is only one answer I dare give.

"Yes, Your Majesty," I tell him, and as I sit back on my heels in preparation for pushing myself to my feet, he extends a hand to me, palm up, fingers slightly curled.

Once again, I don't know what to do, and the panic, which is still dangerously close to the surface, makes it difficult to control my breathing. Ordinarily, apart from the Empress, his physician, his sexual partners and the servants whose job it is to dress him for ceremonial occasions, no one is permitted to touch the Emperor. But it is also forbidden and usually deadly to refuse him, and it is quite clear that he wishes to assist me. I have to respond before I have time to fully consider the situation, and the unfamiliar sensation of dread washes over me as I place my hand in his and allow him to pull me up.

I am still unsteady and stagger a bit when I gain my feet, and he most unexpectedly places his free hand on my back supportively. The dread fades into the background as I recall that while he wasn't above laying a trap for someone he suspected of illegal activity as Chief of Security on Jupiter Station, this man was never the type to tempt the innocent into committing an infraction, so he is unlikely to punish me for accepting his offer of help. Now, I am all but consumed with a burning curiosity to know what is happening here, and it is a unique agony not to be able to ask.

"Steady now?" he asks me.

Briefly I consider how I am feeling. It would be worse to answer yes and be wrong than to allow him to wait for a few seconds. When I am confident that I have regained my equilibrium, I nod and tell him, "Yes, thank you, Your Majesty."

He releases me, and I stand there quietly with my eyes averted, awaiting whatever comes next. He could be preparing to kill me or rape me or dismiss me, I have no idea and am in no position to ask.

Instead, his hand slides into the pocket of his robe again and comes out with a scanning device. Gently, he grips my chin and tilts my head back and to the side to give himself access to the injection site. When he scans it, it's mildly painful, as if he's putting moderate pressure on a deep bruise. The scanner beeps as to indicate it has registered whatever he was looking for, and after inspecting the results for himself, he places the scanner in my hands and tells me, "Read this."

The Vulcan brain works differently to a Human's. In an urgent situation such as this, I am able to skim the document quickly, and my mind will retain the information for several hours for processing at a more convenient time. For the moment, though, I pick out only the salient details: today's date, the Emperor's signature and the Imperial Seal, "Writ of Manumission" and "to begin immediately as and when Imperial law allows."

"You plan to free me, Your Majesty?" The implications are so monumental that I can't even be shocked. That will come later, I am sure, when I am able to process the information on the document that has somehow been embedded in my body.

"I have always been opposed to the idea of slavery," he says. "Not for any ephemeral, nonsense reason such as Sentient Rights, mind you, but because it's been proven on more than one occasion that free people earning a living wage work harder and take more pride in their work than slaves. When a worker has a stake in the employer's success and can improve his or her own situation through earning higher wages or a better position within a company, the company becomes stronger. A more dedicated workforce, better quality goods and healthy industry make for a stronger economy, which will strengthen the Empire.

"I am familiar with your service record, and I believe that with freedom, you could be even more beneficial to the Empire. I don't know when I'll be able to abolish slavery, or even if I'll be able to do it in my lifetime. I could make a decree any time, but if it's to be done successfully, it must be done at the right time and proceed in stages.

"Knowing that Vulcans live more than twice as long as the average Human, I want to ensure that, whenever the laws change, even if I'm no longer alive to grant your freedom, you will be able once again to freely serve the Empire in the first stage of the transition. That is why I've injected you with billions of nanobots programmed to sculpt your Writ of Manumission directly onto your bones. Even if you were to lose that section of your jaw, the nanobots in your bloodstream are programmed to find another site for the document. As long as blood is circulating through your body, they will find a place to record it. Until the day the law changes, though, this," he taps the injection site, "must remain a secret. Do you understand?"

I don't. Not entirely. My Vulcan brain was able to retain all of the information in the document, but it won't be able to process it fully until I have some quiet time to think about it. But I know that's not the answer the Emperor wants to hear, and while I don't yet comprehend his desire to free me, specifically, I know that prematurely revealing his plans to the world would not only mean my death, but likely his as well in some sort of coup d'etat, and that would most certainly kill any hope of freedom for the non-Humans within the Empire.

So, I do the only thing I imagine to be appropriate under the circumstances. I prostrate myself at his feet again and kiss his foot in gratitude.

"I understand perfectly, Your Majesty," I say, "and thank you."

I hear a sigh above me, and in a tone of mild irritation, he says, "Oh, do stand up."

I rise as quickly as if I were on springs. I didn't want to incur the Emperor's wrath before; much less now that he has granted me the hope of one day being free.

"Now, it appears that you have matters to settle with your previous master," he says with a rather strange smile, and a bright, almost cheerful tone that is completely at odds with the weighty conversation we were just having, and now I know he did overhear what was said a few moments before I became aware of his presence. "Furthermore, even for a slave, your services to the Empire have been exemplary.

"On this particular occasion, the tradition is that I … am open to listen to requests for favors from those whose work has made them deserving of it.

"If it would please you for a Vulcan slave to be granted the opportunity of settling an old score, then I believe that would be acceptable to me. I will instruct Admiral Hernandez to authorize it."

I can hardly believe what I am hearing. The hope of freedom, monumental and appreciated as it may be, is still an ephemeral, almost fantastical wish, but this is real, present and immediate. This is something I have been actively scheming to achieve almost since the day Trip was arrested. Why would Emperor Burnell offer me such a thing?

Yes, I have worked hard. Were I human, I would have earned not just praise and promotion, but wealth. As it is, the fruits of my labors have gone to others, and though I have been entrusted with more responsibility and more work, it has benefited me nothing; I have remained in the service of Starfleet Command, used but despised just as all other non-Humans are. It is incredible that the Emperor is even aware of my continued existence, let alone of what I have done.

But whatever his reasoning, it is not a proffer that I can refuse. I want to kiss his feet in gratitude again, but given his previous reaction, I just bow deeply from the waist and say, "I am most grateful, Your Majesty."

"I trust you will make good use of your visit," he drawls, "but convey to him in your own unique way that I require my Empire to be left alone." And then without another word he turns and walks from the room, soft-footed and graceful.

I am trembling from head to foot. Even now I can hardly believe that this is not a trick or a trap; that the Emperor was not toying with me like a cat with a mouse. But though he has a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness, he is not known to be vindictive. I can perceive no earthly reason why he should make such an offer if he did not mean to honor it; but then, I grasp my suddenly soaring katra and remind myself harshly to trust nothing and no-one until the door of the prison cell actually opens.

But however sternly I lecture myself, a hope that had all but starved to death for want of nourishment has suddenly sprung up from the ashes like the phoenix of Human legend.

If the Emperor is indeed in earnest and keeps his word, I will see Trip again!

So, Austin is laying the groundwork for some big changes, isn't he? And look at T'pol being all plucky and courageous defending Trip to the Emperor! Isn't Austin just wonderfully reasonable and decent in allowing her that tiny bit of defiance, especially considering it's true? But why is he leaving it to Erika to authorize T'Pol's visit? This holiday is his occasion to grant favors. Why not just do it himself? As always, please leave a review if you have been enjoying the story.