After being shoved into a room that appeared to be used by the mistresses’ servants to live in. It wasn’t decorated as luxurious compared to the chamber they had just been in. However, long dark red drapes were hanging around the room, breaking up the room where neatly made beds were situated. At one end were tall windows that appeared to go out into a balcony.  

Once the guards were satisfied that neither Campbell nor Branson would do anything foolish they left the room with the young servant that had been with the leader, locking the door behind them. The young man, who had short but curly blonde hair took a deep breath and motioned for Branson and Campbell to follow him to the other side of the room, away from the door. 

“Welcome to Angel One,” He said quietly. “I’m Samiwell, Chief Mistress Trista’s senior personal attendee.” 

Both Starfleet officers looked at one another and then back to their ‘host’. Campbell replied. “You understand us?”

Samiwell pulled out the communicator that had been used in the chamber from under his shirt and passed it to them. “You mentioned this was helping you.” 

Slowly, Campbell took the communicator. “Thank you,” He replied. “I’m Oliver and this is Ed.”

“Unusual names,” Samiwell said. “You’re not from our land, are you?”

Branson shook his head. “No, we’re not.”

“You said you were the captain of a ship, is your land on a faraway island?” Samiwell questioned. 

Campbell nodded. “Something like that, yes.”

“You both look strong,” The attendee replied, “Mistress Trista will appreciate you if you show her obedience.”

“Samiwell, we’re not planning on staying here to become her slaves,” Campbell replied. “We want to get back to our ship and find our crew.”

Appearing confused and uncertain about the situation, Samiwell became flustered. “I don’t understand, the women from your island are they not in charge of you?”

Branson shook his head. “No, we’re all equal.”

Samiwell was now shocked. “How? The mistresses here at Angel One are our protectors, our leaders, and our thinkers. The men of this land are here to help, to serve, to care, to assist in raising the next generation.”

“Will you help us escape?” Campbell asked.

The young man shook his head. “I can’t, Mistress Trista will not be happy with me. I’d lose my job. I won’t be desired. She protects me. She provides for me. I don’t want to be hurt.”

Concerned to see the young lad react like that, Branson spoke up. “Samiwell, does she hurt you?”

“Only if I get something wrong,” He replied and proceeded to lift his shirt to show a massive bruise against his skinny chest. 

Stepping forward, to check it out, Branson assured Samiwell. “I’m a doctor, let me check that for you.”

Appearing nervous and worried, Samiwell just nodded as Branson checked his injury over. “Men aren’t allowed to be doctors or healers of any kind.”

“In our land, they are,” Campbell assured him. 

Branson looked at Samiwell, “I think you have a broken rib there. Does it hurt to breathe?”

“Sometimes,” Samiwell nodded. 

“One of the items we had taken from us was my medical kit,” Branson stated. “If you can get your hands on it, I may be able to give you something for the pain relief.”

Pushing his shirt back down, the young lad considered the idea. “If I help you, will you take me with you? I’ve always wanted to be a healer.”

Branson and Campbell looked again at one another. Campbell considered his decision. “Let’s take this one step at a time for now.”

“Okay,” Samiwell said, sounding disappointed. “Before the guards return, I need to get you both ready.”

“How?” Branson asked.

Samiwell walked over to a wooden cupboard and opened both of its doors. “Here, go into the changing rooms, use the baths to clean yourselves and put these clothes on.” Pulling out similar outfits that he was wearing, Samiwell passed them both the items they needed to wear.

“This looks very small for us,” Campbell noted. 

“Indeed, men’s clothing is designed to be tighter to ensure our posture is appropriate and for our form to please our mistresses,” Samiwell noted. 

“Interesting,” Branson remarked before Samiwell showed them over to the changing facilities.

Several minutes later, Campbell and Branson exited the smaller rooms they had used to get themselves cleaned up and changed into. Samiwell approached them and with what looked like a comb started to change the style of both of their hair. “Mistress Trista likes her men to have their hair in a similar style and she likes us to be clean-shaven.” He passed them both a razor. “Everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” Branson repeated.

“Everywhere,” Samiwell confirmed as he indicated the chest hair and other parts of their bodies. 

Eventually, both Starfleet officers were able to sort themselves out as instructed by Samiwell. The lad also pierced their ears and placed exotic jewellery on them. Rings on their hands, along with silver bracelets and chain necklaces around their necks. They were almost finished when the door to the room was then unlocked and Chief Mistress Trista entered with her guards. 

“Ah, Samiwell, my loyal attendee. You have done a superb job with my new men.” She said with a smile as she inspected both Campbell and Branson. “They’re almost as pretty as you.”

“I’m glad to please you, my mistress,” Samiwell said as he bowed his head.

“Take them both to my personal chambers and make sure you show them how to please me further,” She looked at her guards and motioned for them to escort her new attendees. 

After a few minutes of being shown down several more corridors and two flights of stairs, they arrived in another room. It was huge and had guards outside the main door. Before they entered, Samiwell turned to them both and said, “Follow my lead and you’ll stay alive.” 

Branson and Campbell were both alarmed by his words. Campbell took a breath in, hoping that at some point someone from the Endeavour would save them. He could only imagine what Ricci was having to deal with elsewhere while they were captors.