Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Mon, 09 Feb 2004 06:26:24 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: "Jay P Hailey" JayPHailey@comcast.net Title: Star Trek: Outwardly Mobile Author: Jay P Hailey (JayPHailey@hotmail.com) Series: MISC - TNG OCs Codes: None Part: 22/335(?) Rating:[PG] Archive: Fine with me, just tell me where. Disclaimer: Paramount owns all things Star Trek. I claim Original Characters and Situations for me. Webpage HTTP://jayphailey.8m.com The Dorians and the Sixians By Jay P. Hailey And Dennnis Washburn Back on Doria III I reported the basics to the Ambassador. "Lovely. Do you think they'll return to get revenge?" He said. I could see Sixian dreadnoughts dancing in his head. He didn't like the idea. "I won't leave you in a lurch." I said I figured that it was my fault that the Sixians had been antagonized. I wasn't going to leave the Dorians holding the bag. "Thank you." The Ambassador said. "I hope you will tell His Majesty, when you are presented to him." "When is that to be?" "Tomorrow evening." It's a date," I agreed "Now there's a few things about your planet that I'd like to see." The Ambassador grinned. Doria III was a pretty planet, and he figured that sight seeing should be easy enough to handle. He wasn't grinning after I told him what I wanted to see. -*- Creche number thirty-five was a huge, low sprawl of a complex. It looked like a huge school to me. There was a huge field where children ran and played. They ranged from groups about two and a half feet tall to ones the size of adults. Adult Dorians were scattered among them, supervising. There were several hundred individuals at Creche number thirty-five. We pulled up in the official motorcade. I had argued the necessity, but the Ambassador had insisted. He had also insisted on coming with us. As we got out of the motorcade, whistles sounded among the adults of Creche number thirty-five. As soon as they heard the whistle, the children and many of the adults bowed to the ground and held it. Even the two foot toddlers were made to bow, although their form was rather haphazard. I caught Tillean's eyes. She was scanning the crowd with slitted eyes, and the blood drained from her face. Stephanie and McTague looked stunned. One of the adults who remained standing came over to us and warmly greeted the Ambassador. "Ambassador! To what do we owe the pleasure?" He asked brightly, oblivious to several hundred people with their faces in the dirt. "Well, our honored guests wanted to take a tour of your facility, and review the excellent work you do here." The Ambassador dropped compliments wholesale. "Well then," The man turned to us "I am Headmaster Gringle, welcome to Creche' number thirty-five." He stepped forward to shake our hands. I shook his hand and made the right noises by rote. McTague followed my cue and was polite although he sounded hoarse. Stephanie caught his eye, and was very serious. Tillean refused to touch him, stepping away with her eyes still locked on all the prostrate children. He turned around and shouted to another standing adult "I think that's sufficient, sound the release!" The whistles and bells made another signal and everyone got up and moved away slowly, back into their own cliques and business. The two footers all watched us with big eyes. We were whisked through a tour of Creche number thirty-five, courtesy of Headmaster Gringle, the genial, affable slave master. The Creche was clean and modern, like a friendly boarding school. The teaching equipment was all in excellent condition, and modern. We watched a group of adolescents going through a shop class, training to fix cars and machines by rote. There was no writing or reading anywhere. The Students were taught using computer terminals that had color-coding. The Students answered question with colors. They asked none of their own. There was nothing but a momentary snapshot of time. There was no yesterday, there was no tomorrow. We watched a soap opera that featured happy servants and their lives and loves. They never questioned their status or the orders of the ruling class. -*- We got back into the motorcade. Soon we were settled and the motorcade started off on its return trip to the Diplomatic Palace. As soon as we were moving, Tillean put her head in her lap and cried, disconsolately. Nobody looked too happy, even the Ambassador. "Okay, now tell me the truth." I said to him. "We have told you the truth, as far as it goes." He said. I got a chill. "The fact is that the social system imposed during the Great Rectification was based on slavery. Not slavery of one man by another, but a cleaner style where slaves are a resource belonging to the people as a whole. The state is charged with assuring their well being and that they serve appropriately." "It began during the time of the Accountants. They had huge armies of slaves. Hundred of thousands were worked to death or tortured, or killed for the amusement of the Accountants." "During the Great Rectification, A genius arose, named Nam. He lead the slaves to freedom and then established our current system." Tillean looked up. "You're advanced enough now not to need slaves. Why do you still keep them?" "The adjustment to a non-slave economy would be too wrenching. The whole system has evolved around this basic facet. We would have to change everything, all at once. It would be too difficult. Besides, what would all the slaves do with themselves once they were freed?" "How do you decide who is a slave and who isn't?" I asked "What's the criteria, there?" "Well, the current servant class are the survivors of the old ruling class." "And the old lower classes?" "We live a freer life style, with education provided by the state. There many jobs for administrators, scientists, Law Enforcement, Military Officers and so on." "But the Servant class?" "They are assigned by their aptitudes, when possible. We try to make sure they lack for nothing." "What happens when a member of the slave class grows dissatisfied?" I asked "What happens when they resist?" "Once dissatisfaction sets in there is no hope for the individual. He will never be happy with his lot again. In order to keep this malaise from spreading, from infecting others, the dissatisfied individual is quickly, quietly and painlessly eliminated." "Because of the questions you asked of Jeoj, He became dissatisfied, and I had to have him put down, last night." I thought that I was going to puke. Tillean waited a few moments and then did so. "Our system has worked and provided an adequate standard of living for hundreds of years." The Ambassador seemed to be getting annoyed. "Say what you will, it works." "Our way is sufficient for us." All of his geniality was gone. "And according to your Prime Directive that should be enough for you." -*- That night I spent aboard the Harrier. So did Tillean, McTague and Stephanie. I think they slept. I didn't. I had a rough decision to make. I studied the scans of the Sixian ship. It was an ugly thing. I was surprised that anyone had voluntarily built and flown it. It would do the trick to splatter the more competent, yet less advanced designs of the Dorians, wouldn't it? I hadn't gotten my idea number three yet, and now I doubted that I would. My choice was down to giving the Dorians technology or letting them get splattered. I thought of The Ambassador, Jeoj, and Headmaster Gringle, and made up my mind. Then I thought of Salby the historian, the serving woman who looked at me funny for saying thank you, and all the little two footers and their big eyes and unmade it again. The Sixian ship spun on the monitor in front of me. --- Outgoing mail is certified Virus Free. 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