Enterprise: The Measure of a Man

Chapter 10

**Fan fiction only. Not for sale or profit. No copyright infringement intended.**


The largest—and until now the cruelest—of the reptilians bellowed as the Andorian drove a booted foot hard against his now-bare midsection.

“These boots feel less pleasurable in the guts than they do on the feet, wouldn’t you agree?” Frothy spit gathered in the corners of his blue lips as his entire face contorted in rage. “I must thank you for loaning them to me. I’ve been feeling a bit underdressed as of late.”

“We’ll have to kill them all, Onarr,” one of the humanoids said, smacking his open palm with one of the truncheons they’d commandeered. Behind him, a group of Klingons began to jostle each other and grunt in approval. Lengths of broken chain, smashed from their own legs and wrists, swung menacingly from their blood-smeared fists. Bits of the armor they’d stripped from their former captors covered their bodies haphazardly.

“He’s right, you know.” Onarr tasted each word with obvious pleasure. “And you won’t die easily. I can promise you that much.”

“You act as though we wronged you of our own accord,” the reptilian groaned. “But what choice did we have? We are slaves just as you are. Those bitches are our common enemy.”

“Your empathy moves me.” Smiling, Onarr delivered another savage kick to the same area as the newly freed laborers behind him shouted and howled. Makeshift weapons of all kinds jabbed the air. They fell when Onarr turned and raised both hands for silence. “We need to gather more forces if we are to take the city. So we will give them a choice. They can die or join us. Something tells me that they will make the right decision.”


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Archer and Trip wolfed down their evening meal, the first nourishment they’d been offered in hours. Sejenus lingered in the doorway, regarding them critically—even a little sadly, Archer thought. Swallowing the last hunk of bread, he shot Trip a quizzical look. Sejenus noticed the silent exchange and scowled.

“I must advise both of you against this constant ruminating.”

“What do you mean by that?” Trip asked with feigned innocence.

“I am aware that neither of you considers your condition here permanent. However, you are fools if you think you are going to change the way things are and have always been here.”

“Why?” Archer shot back. “Change is always possible.”

Sejenus shook his head slowly. “Not here.”

“How can you be so sure about that?”

“You forget…I have lived here since before you were born. Whatever my personal feelings may have been when I was younger and a good deal less wise, I have learned to suppress them. I recommend you do the same, or your life will begin to seem very long and burdensome.”

“Like yours?”

“At times, I confess that I have experienced something quite close to what you might call despair. Yet such episodes have become less and less frequent as the decades have worn on.”

“Sounds to me like giving up,” Trip said.

“My duty is to protect our Mistress from unpleasantry. That is, I am afraid, precisely what the two of you represent. Perhaps in time she will come to see that, too. Meanwhile, I must warn you that my sympathies rest with her. Whether you understand or approve of that is not my concern.”

Archer grimaced. “All right, if that’s the way you want it.”

“If I have to, I will make certain that the two of you are housed separately—for the rest of your natural lives, if need be. You might ponder that while you wait to be summoned to your own duties tonight.”

“You think he’d really do that?” Trip asked Archer after Sejenus had gone, barring the door to their barracks. “Separate us, I mean?”

Archer’s jaw remained a rock. “I’d like to see him try.”

“It makes me wonder what’s going on with Malcolm. You think we’ll be able to find him again?”

“I know we will…and it’s going to be sooner rather than later. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, Trip. We’ve tried to play the game, but it’s getting us nowhere. Now we’ve got to try something else. The first chance we get, we’re going to make a break for it. Are you with me?”

“You bet I am.” Trip looked pensive. “Sejenus said they might send for us tonight. Does that mean…?”

“You heard me, Trip: the first chance we get.”

“Aye, Captain.”

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Because Tjarin’s bathhouse was windowless, Malcolm couldn’t be sure how late it was, though the exhaustion that weighed down his limbs suggested that the day was long past.

Sleep, however, didn’t come easily. Whenever his eyes started to close, he had a sudden image of Slon’s ugly mug hovering over him, and one of those gigantic slime-colored fists—or worse—bearing down on his exposed flesh.

The lack of any bedding besides a single rough blanket didn’t help much, either.

At least Derix had found some peace, he thought when he turned over and saw the prince’s motionless form stretched out a few yards away from him. Or at least, that was his impression until Derix, too, rolled over to look directly at Malcolm. His wide eyes glistened in the dim illumination provided by a single torch fastened high over their heads.

“I have never known such hate as I feel toward them,” Derix said suddenly. “Sometimes I can scarcely breathe, my anger is so great.”

“It doesn’t help to dwell on it,” Malcolm said. “Try to think about something else. Like a way out of this mess, for example.”

“At one time, I imagined myself fond of women. I can no longer say that is the case.”

Malcolm snorted. “I’m not particularly enamoured of these women, no. Fortunately, they’re not the norm in most places I’ve visited.”

“Their behavior would make even the least sensitive citizens on my planet shudder.” Derix sighed. “If only I could be sure I would ever see my home again.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m determined to return to mine. You’re welcome to ride shotgun when I go.”

“Again, you have placed my welfare on an equal footing with your own. Perhaps I have not expressed my gratitude to you clearly, Reed, but I hope you feel it nonetheless. If—or when—we do reach my homeworld again, my father will reward you for your service. He is a most powerful monarch—his generosity will not disappoint you.”

“Let’s not worry about that now, grateful though I’m sure I’ll be. We need to concentrate on our surroundings—to find a way out of this mess. Eventually, it’ll come—and we have to be ready for it.”

Derix fell silent for a few moments. Slowly, without getting up or unwrapping himself from his blanket, he inched closer to Malcolm.

“What my people would find most shocking about this place is the division between the genders. On my planet, we practice complete equality at every level. There is no need for men to serve women, or for women to serve men. For that matter, there is no requirement for the two to mix at all. We see no shame in men caring for one another.”

“Well…that’s very open-minded of you.”

“In fact, it is a matter of honor. On my world, there is no greater tribute a young man may pay to one more experienced, whom he considers his mentor.”

Malcolm was too startled to move as the prince curled against him, resting his head against his bare chest. The muscles in his shoulders went rigid as Derix’s breath lightly stirred the tiny hairs surrounding Malcolm’s nipple.

“That—that won’t be necessary. I don’t expect anything of the kind.”

He began to squirm, trying to dislodge Derix without offending him. Yet Derix felt surprisingly solid against him, holding him firmly in place.

The prince’s fingers curled slowly between Reed’s legs. “Please—you have risked yourself for me many times. Accept my tribute in the spirit with which I offer it.”

“I’d really rather you—” Reed exhaled deeply, heat rising in his body as quickly as his breath left it. The pressure on his most intimate area increased, growing oddly soothing even as it became steadily more insistent. Somehow, before he was even fully aware of what he was doing, Malcolm closed his eyes and arched his body toward Derix’s.

Then, all at once, everything came into such sharp focus that he was almost painfully snapped from his exhaustion-fueled reverie. In the distance, he heard a strange crashing noise, accompanied by a cacophony of wild—and unmistakably masculine—shouts. One of the voices, he was certain, belonged to Slon. He seemed to be howling in pain.

Quickly, Malcolm sat up, pushing Derix to one side. The two of them had barely scrambled to their feet before the carved double doors to the bathhouse crashed open.

Instinctively they grabbed their blankets, wrapping themselves in what they knew would be only feeble protection from the ragtag army suddenly bearing down on them.

When they were only a few feet away, another shout from the rear stopped them as a group.

Malcolm stared, momentarily rendered speechless, as the Andorian pushed his way to the front of the group. The stick he held above his head glistened with a dark liquid that Malcolm assumed to be blood.

The Andorian tilted his head as if he were trying to get a better look at Malcolm’s face.

“I know you,” he said at last. “You were the pink skin who tried to escape the first day we were brought here. Alas, you failed miserably that time. However, your luck has changed today. You and your little friend here may rejoice. Both of you have now been liberated.”