Enterprise: The Measure of a Man

**DISCLAIMER: Fan fiction only. NO money is being made off this story and no infringement on copyrights is intended with respect to aired and theatrical Star Trek.

Enterprise: The Measure of a Man


Part 2


From the first row of the amphitheater, Venda and her handmaiden, Lysara, surveyed the new arrivals with great interest.

"A most intriguing assortment this time. Kovar seems to have widened his nets."

"He knows your tastes by now, Mistress," Lysara said, blushing slightly. "It’s not as though you haven’t made your expectations plain."

"Well, I did feel the need to complain about that last batch. Those dreadfully crude beings with their horribly deformed faces…sometimes at night, if my sleep is not peaceful, I can still hear them howling. What were they called again?"

"I believe Kovar referred to them as Klingons, Mistress."

"Even their name offends my ears. I hope he was able to put them to work somewhere else. They were most certainly not suitable for our purposes, and I don’t regret making that plain." Venda sighed and leaned forward, propping her chin on her fist. "This time, however, I am most pleased. See that Kovar is properly rewarded for his efforts."

"It’s already been taken care of, Mistress. I knew you would feel that way."

"You always anticipate my orders, Lysara. No wonder I value you as highly as I do."

"Thank you, Mistress. It is my greatest joy to serve you." Lysara’s blush faded and was replaced by a proud smile. She returned her attention to the platform, where the handlers were bringing the new captives forward one at a time. Each, in turn, was promenaded back and forth, then stopped and displayed from the front, back, and both sides. Most of them were grimacing in mortification and disgust, and a few of them displayed openly hostile expressions. However, Lysara knew that this uncooperative attitude would disappear quickly. "Will you take any of them for yourself, Mistress?" she asked.

"Yes; as a matter of fact I think I will. And even better—I have decided to take one for you, too."

"For me? That is most generous."

"Not at all. When you first came into my service, I promised to rewaoyaloyalty and thoroughness, and you have demonstrated both amply. I honor my promises. Besides, you are of age now. You deserve a slave of your own."

Unable to conceal her excitement, Lysara stared at the group of men on the platform with wide-eyed wonder.

"Which of them pleases you?" Venda asked.

"I—I don’t know," the younger woman admitted. "The very thought of choosing for myself is almost overwhelming. Still…the one with the blue skin intrigues me."

Venda shook her head sadly. "I would advise caution there. We had one of those before, when I was no older than you are now. That one was most rebellious, not to mention possessed of a most poisonous nature. In any case, they are genetically incompatible, though I admit the color is appealing in a way. You might do better with something less exotic, especially for your first time."

"I submit to your wisdom, Mistress. In that case…perhaps the tall one."

Venda’s smile widened, eyes gleaming. "Yes," she said slowly, "I thought about that one, too."

Lysara recognized that look at once, and just managed to hold back a laugh. "In that case, you should have him, Mistress. Please. I’ll take the one standing beside him instead. He looks softer, more compliant—a bit easier to manage."

"Very well."

With that decided, Venda lifted her right hand into the air, palm outward. The moment she did, all conversation in the amphitheater died away. On the platform, the handlers and their captives froze in place. Slowly, Venda rose from her seat and pointed to the tall man she had taken a particular interest in.

"Bring that one to me. I wish to inspect him more closely."

The captive struggled as they pushed him forward and forced him onto his knees in front of her. Venda’s gaze traveled slowly along the smooth planes of his skin, the faint ripple of tautly controlled muscle in his arms and shoulders. And, of course, her eyes briefly dropped lower as well.

"I am satisfied. This one will be mine."

She wasn’t surprised when he began to protest. She could see the stubbornness in his jaw, the defiant posture. Nakedness and humiliation had little or no effect on this one. Venda liked that. Constant submission from her subordinates could become so tiresome.

"I demand that you release me and the two men I came with. We’re not part of your world—we don’t belong here."

Venda stroked his forehead as if comforting an unruly pet. "My dear, none of you feel as if you belong here at first. That will all change. You’ll see that it’s for the best."

Though he clearly didn’t accept her explanation, he seemed to think better of arguing the point any further. Instead, he tried to look over his shoulder at the captives who remained on the platform. Roughly, the handler turned his face back to Venda.

"What’s going to happen to my –my companions? I’m responsible for them."

Venda shook her head. "From now on, you are responsible for pleasing me . I think, however, that one of them will be coming with you. Lysara?"

"Yes. I’ve decided on that one."

"Trip," the man said under his breath. Venda couldn’t tell if the strange word referred to his friend, some strange god their people worshipped, or was simply an expletive. Not that it mattered.

"Very well, it’s decided. Have Abso mark those two for us and train them for the chamber. The others may be auctioned."

The handler nodded and grunted. Twisting his pudgy fingers into the kneeling man’s scalp, he pulled him back to his feet and marched him across and behind the platform. One of his subordinates grabbed the other captive Venda had earmarked for royal service.

As they left the stage, the women in the audience offered a round of polite applause.

---

As he and Trip were dragged away from the others, Archer managed to exchange a brief glance with his tactical officer, still standing among the other prisoners. He only hoped that he’d conveyed his message adequately:

Take care of yourself, Malcolm. Trip and I will be all right.

Then, before he had time to gauge Reed’s response, a ringed metal collar was snapped painfully around his neck and he was unceremoniously hoisted into the straw-covered bottom of a rough wooden cart. Trip came crashing down on top of him a moment later, and the cart rumbled off. The creaking of the wheels quickly drowned out the sounds of the auction that continued behind them.

While they rumbled along, Trip rolled onto his stomach and tugged in vain at the broad metal band encircling his neck.

"Forget it," Archer said, after a brief pull at his own collar. "They won’t come off until whoever’s running this freak show decides they should."

"So what do we do? Just give up and let that ugly son of a bitch chain us in the yard like dogs? We don’t even know where the hell we are!"

"My guess is that we’ve stumbled across the same organization that inspired the security conference to begin with. They probably knew we were coming. We’ll have to play along until we find a chance to make a break for it. If they think they’ve beaten us, maybe they’ll let their guard down. The rest of the answers we’ll just have to find on our own."

"And what about Malcolm?"

Archer shook his head with regret. "He’ll have to hold on until we can think of a way to get him back. But we will."

The two of them suddenly pitched forward as the cart jolted to a stop. They looked up to see a large, bald humanoid with a flat nose and bulging forehead striding toward them. His leather armor creaked as his barrel-shaped body strained against it.

"Get out," he demanded, then motioned to the pig-faced guards that stood on either side of him. Moving more quickly than they seemed capable of, they stepped forward and attached chains to the rings in the collars. Archer and Trip were unceremoniously pulled to the ground, where they landed face-first. Booted feet kicked at their sides until they raised themselves to their hands and knees, shaking the dust from their hair.

"Now what?" Trip asked, rolling his scraped palms into fists. He’d spoken to Archer, but the others heard, too.

"Now," the bald man said, smirking down at them, "you’ll be prepared for service. The first lesson you’ll learn is how to show respect to your betters." His stumpy-fingered hand moved to the truncheon that swung from his belt.

Trip and Archer had already steeled themselves for a shattering blow when another male voice, moderate but authoritative, brought everything to a sudden halt.

"And I have a lesson for you, as well, Abso. Holding a weapon does not, in itself, make one man better than another. If it did, you would hardly need to fear my censure. We both know that is not the case."

Still crouching close to the ground, Trip blinked in astonishment. "Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any more bizarre," he murmured to Archer. "How the hell did a Vulcan get mixed up in this?"

"Don’t even try to guess," Archer whispered back. "But he’s the first encouraging sign I’ve seen here."

"I can think of no reason why our Mistress would wish to see her new arrivals covered with bruises and wounds. As limited as you are, surely you can see as well as I can that she has purchased these two for a specific purpose. I suggest you do nothing to compromise their physical condition without her express permission."

"Very well, Sejenus. If you think you can handle their sort more efficiently than I can, be my guest. I’ll take no responsibility if they escape, however. You can explain that to Mistress yourself."

"I trust that will not be necessary. Leave them where they are; I will take over from here."

Grumbling, Abso reattached the club to his belt and climbed back onto the cart, signaling to his henchmen. With equally downcast expressions, they took their places at the front of the wagon and pulled it sullenly away.

"No wonder we didn’t hear any horses," Archer observed in wonder.

"I’m just glad they didn’t expect us to haul that thing." Trip scowled. "Then again, cart animals might have it easy compared to what’s in store for us."

They remained frozen in place, as much out of modesty as intimidation, as the Vulcan moved to stand over them, his long toga-like garment fluttering around his sandaled feet. . His greyinows ows twitched with curiosity. "You’re Terrans," he said with some surprise.

"That’s right," Archer said. "From Starfleet."

"Starfleet? I’ve never heard of that particular entity, though from the sound of the word, I assume it is militaristic—typical of humans, from what little I know of them. You are the first of your kind to turn up here. Apparently Earth perfected long-distance space travel during my absence."

"The Vulcans gave us some help," Archer said. "You must have left before our people made contact. How long have you lived on this planet?"

Briefly, Sejenus’ gaze drifted over Archer’s shoulder and focused on a distant point of the enclosed courtyard. "They keep time differently here than we do on Vulcan—or you do on Earth," he said, almost wistfully. "Still, I have tried to maintain my own standards. If my calculations are accurate, I have lived here for approximately fifty-seven Terran years."

Trip looked enviously at Sejenus’ immaculate white garment. "I guess that’s why you seem to be doing a lot better than we are."

"You might be surprised to know that I was once in the very position you are in now. Fortunately, I managed to prove my loyalty to our Mistress, and now serve her in the capacity of a trusted house servant, though I am technically still a slave. One of my duties, in fact, is to see that all new arrivals are thoroughly educated about what is expected of them here."

Trip’s eyes narrowed. "You mean you’re going to train us?"

"It is my hope that you will cooperate willingly with my instructions—especially since that is really your only hope of bettering your situation. You would be wise to accept that you cannot leave this place. See for yourself—the courtyard is thoroughly walled on all sides. Beyond that, Abso’s men stand ready to enforce proper obedience. My method is to teach through example rather than punishment, but you may take the other roif yif you prefer."

"Based on what we’ve seen of them so far, we’ll give your way a try," Archer said cautiously.

"Then stand and follow me. You will have shelter, nourishment, rest."

"How about some clothes?" Trip asked as he self-consciously followed Archer to his feet.

Sejenus ignored the comment, though the briefest hint of a smile flickered across his pursed lips. He didn’t speak again until he had led them into a surprisingly tidy barn-like structure. The presence of a few blankets strewn about and some basic dining utensils proved that the structure had not been erected to house four-legged animals.

As they walked inside, looking warily around, a slender humanoid with deeply tanned skin and a shock of pale yellow hair, scuttled out of view behind a beam.

"There is no reason to hide," Sejenus called to the nervous creature. "You’ve done everything I asked of you, and I am pleased with your work. Now that the new arrivals are here, you will be responsible for their comforts and their care. Show yourself."

Slowly, the humanoid crawled out on his hands and knees and crouched there, his head low to the floor and his naked backside tilted up. Archer and Trip exchanged appalled glances.

"Perhaps now you’ll believe me when I tell you that you are among the luckiest of the men auctioned off this afternoon. Venda and Lysara will treat you more like treasured pets than beasts of burden. You will even have a servant of your own, although you will not be able to converse with him. His race never developed the power of speech. Most curious, though it has proved practical at times."

"Well, we don’t want a servant," Archer said angrily. "We want to get out of here. Come on, Sejenus. This isn’t the kind of thing Vulcans believe in. Doesn’t it bother you that you’re holding us against our wills, not to mention perpetuating slavery?"

"It is not my place to judge the inhabitants of this world based on what I might have chosen for myself, had circumstances been different. Besides, as you may have guessed, I am not here of my own volition either. I have endeavored to make the best of my situation, and I have found some small degree of contentment. Again, I encourage you to do the same. In the other direction lies madness."

"How did you get here?" Trip asked.

Sejenus sighed. "As a much younger man, I fancied myself a philosopher—one with a most cynical bent, I might add. My fellow Vulcans had little patience for my ideas, and I in turn found them insufferable, judgmental. Presently I left Vulcan to seek my fortune elsewhere—perhaps to found a sc, wh, where I could put forth my ideas without fear of ridicule. During the course of my travels, I was captured and brought here. At that time, Mistress Venda herself was but an infant. Her mother ruled in her place. She was a most imposing woman—almost in spite of myself, I came to admire her. Presently I accepted my lot and have been rewarded accordingly. Your lives, too, could be almost pleasant if you learn your place and behave accordingly."

Archer scowled. "We’d never consider a life of servitude pleasant. We require freedom and dignity."

"I have no intention of arguing with you further. I have other duties to perform. Calo, here, will bring you refreshment and any other necessities. I will send for you again later. Be prepared."

Turning, he walked out of the structure and closed the doors behind him. They heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt being slid into place, locking them in.

"Well, look on the bright side," Trip said, dropping onto one of the blankets that had been provided. "At least we don’t have to dress for dinner."