by John Norman
“I think I might know now what it is, or something of what it might be, to be a slave,” she whispered.
Brenner was silent.
“I did not know it could be like this,” she said.
Brenner was silent.
“I beg your touch,” she said, “I think as might a slave whose needs are upon her!”
Brenner did not break the silence.
“Please be merciful,” she said. “Do not have me suffer. Do not leave me dangling like this!”
Brenner had heard of such things as slave need, of course. He supposed it possible that something of the sort could occur in a free woman, particularly one under contract, one at the mercy of others. Such needs in the slave, of course, are generally a function of what she is, and her entire condition. Also, cruelly, the slave is sometimes given no choice in the matter of these needs, but must submit to, and acquiesce in, their release and efflorescence, until she finds herself, as was her owner’s intent, the helpless prisoner of their implacable, frequently recurrent, profound demands. It is said that such needs, and love, are the strongest bonds to which slaves are subject, that they are stronger than bars of iron and bands of steel.
“Get on your back,” said Brenner, with which command she immediately complied. He then rose up, on one elbow. He touched her, lightly.
“Oh, yes!” she said. “Yes, please!”
He then realized how helpless she was, not merely physically, but, more importantly, psychologically.
“Please, don’t stop,” she begged.
In a few moments Brenner placed his hand over her mouth, that her cries might not carry throughout the establishment, perhaps disturbing the rest of others. How she squirmed, and bucked, and writhed! How helpless she was, so much in the grip of her reflexes, so much in the careless, merciless bondage of her femaleness! Who would have thought there could be so much vitality, so much force, so much strength and power, in so small and beautiful, so soft, so deliciously curved, a body? Beneath the palm of his sweating hand, hastily placed, pressing firmly downward, Brenner felt her lips and, beneath them, her teeth. She could not, beneath his hand, open her mouth, nor could she scarcely move. What would have been screams of ecstasy became no more than tiny sounds, no more, by his action, permitted to her. Then, later, after the subsidence of her tumult, its crisis passed, she lay back, not much moving, and whimpered, pleadingly. He removed his hand from her mouth. His palm was wet, from her mouth, and from his sweat. The side of his hand, too, was wet, as tears had streaked down her cheeks, stopped by its barrier.
She did not speak.
“You yielded,” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Helplessly,” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered, in the darkness.
He kissed her.
“I love being this helpless,” she said, “so much yours.”
“You speak as might a slave,” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
He rose from the bed and went to the side of the room, to the lamp. He turned it on, and up, just a little, setting the shade in such a way as to diffuse the light. He looked back upon her, on the bed, now on one elbow, turned to him, her hands held behind her, in the shadows.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I was curious about something,” he said.
“Oh?” she said.
“Lie back,” he said.
She lay on her back, and turned her head to her left, to look at him.
“Yes,” he said. “It is true.”
“What?” she asked.
“You are beautiful enough to be a slave,” he said.
She half reared up, turning toward him, but then, as though she feared she might be guilty of some subtle infraction of discipline, lay back on the bed. She kept her head straight, her eyes facing upward, toward the ceiling.
“Yes,” he said, confirming his former assessment.
“Ohhh,” she said, softly, suddenly, moving, but continuing to look upward, “I gush—my Master.”
He went to the side of the bed, and, standing to one side, looked down upon her.
She kept her head as it had been, straight, looking up at the ceiling, not meeting his eyes.
“We will be your foes, you know,” she said, “if you do not make us your slaves.”
Brenner was silent.
“I would be your slave,” she said. “I am your slave.” Brenner then understood how much a woman can give, and that she will find nothing sufficient short of giving all, that she wills to give all, to give herself, all of herself, unstintingly, unreservedly, unquestioningly, that she can in her heart be content with nothing less than the fullness of love’s surrender. Brenner then joined her upon the bed, and very gently kissed her.
“I fear the coming of the morning,” she said.
“Be silent,” said Brenner.
“Yes,” she whispered, “—Master.”
Chapter 6
“Those are Pons, over there, in their camp,” said Rodriguez, pulling on one of the ropes, one of two attached to the mud sled, purchased through the hostel this morning, before light, their luggage now on it.
“They are small,” said Brenner.
“They are amongst the slightest, most trivial, most backward organisms in the galaxy,” said Rodriguez.
Brenner nodded. Their simplicity, and primitiveness, might make them a trove for the researches of the anthropologist. To be sure, several of the most advanced cultures, too, in their depth and complexity, promised exotic fields of study, but grants for the study of the safer ones, usually reserved, for example, for those well-fixed in credits, who could afford the appropriate disbursements, bribes, and such, or those highly placed in a field’s or party’s bureaucracy, were not available to the likes of Rodriguez and Brenner, and grants pertaining to the study of the more perilous ones often languished for want of applicants. More than one female anthropologist, for example, had vanished without trace on such a world. It was rumored that one had been found, light years away, months later, in a slave market. It was said that another anthropologist had bought her, and kept her. Anthropologists, of course, need not be concerned with simple cultures, no more than the biologist must content himself with the study of protozoa. On the other hand, Rodriguez, and others, including Brenner, found cultural protozoa, so to speak, of great interest, and, who knew, perhaps one might, if one could understand them, truly understand them, even things so simple, perhaps one might then be better equipped, in time, to essay more profitable inquiries into the nature of more complex cultural structures, into the life of, so to speak, more complex organisms. Brenner thought that the mud sled was not a bad idea, particularly now that he saw how small the Pons were. Surely they would prove unlikely porters. And he, of course, was less than enthusiastic about carrying suitcases, or even encumbering packs, through dangerous forests. It had been enough of a bother to get their goods from the depot to the hostel. To be sure, the load might have been distributed over various porters, if the Pons were willing to serve as such, but Rodriguez was not sanguine about too open a transportation of a miscellany which included valuables such as several bottles of Heimat and two radios, not to mention a forbidden weapon, the disguised Naxian rifle.
It was raining, again. It was a little after dawn.
They drew the sled across the mud, and up, onto the plank road that led to the fence, the gate, and the tower, where the operator was stationed.
The Pons had apparently seen them, for they had emerged from their tiny, tentlike shelters and were hurrying about, seemingly conversing amongstst themselves.
The fence was actually a double fence, with the field between the two sets of wires, so that rational organisms would not be likely to enter the area of the field while it was active. There were postings frequently about, as well, on both sides of the double fence, in various languages, and in one of the common signs supposedly interpretable by all, or most, visually oriented rational creatures, a circle with a jagged
line within it, presumably symbolizing lightning, or the flow of some strong current. Occasionally certain organisms, scions of diverse phyla, some of them distinctly unpleasant, for example, often poisonous or carnivorous, had been found dead within the fence. That now was seldom the case. Even the Norwegian rat, as it was called, now endemic on several worlds, the origin of the name a matter of debate amongstst zoologists, manifested the rudiments of a primitive tradition, older animals, for example, warning younger animals away from substances which in the past had been found harmful.
Rodriguez and Brenner hauled the sled along the planks to the foot of the tower, only back a little from the first metal-link gate, it set at the interior perimeter of the double fence, it, too, metal-linked. The top of the gate, like that of the opposite gate, and the fence, on both sides, was strung with coiled blades of metal. Rodriguez waved upward to the operator, and lifted his papers. The matter of their passage, of course, had been arranged. Still, as a matter of course, the papers would be checked. I must not make this sound as though those of Company Station were unusually security minded. They were not. It was rather that it was thought to be important to keep track of what went through the fence, and, in particular, what went through in the nature of equipment. It could be company property. It was not difficult, for most in Company Station, to go back and forth when they wished. Company Station, for most at any rate, was not a prison. Too, it might be mentioned, Pons occasionally frequented Company Station. Horemheb, who was, of course, a Pon, as well as others, had even, upon occasion, spent some time there. Also, as I have suggested, a certain amount of trading and, presumably, a sort of primarily asymmetrical cultural exchange obtained between them and the station. Indeed, had it not been so, the arrangements for the expedition of Rodriguez and Brenner, such as it was, might have been difficult to arrange. Certain of the Pons, at least, too, it should be mentioned, it was conjectured in virtue of these cultural contacts, were conversant in the most frequently employed language at Company Station, which was, incidentally, fortunately, the tongue native both to Rodriguez and Brenner. Our friends, then, anticipated little difficulty in initially communicating with the Pons. In this fashion a great deal of time might be saved, which otherwise would be consumed in learning the language, even as a child might learn it, beginning with rudimentary ostensions, having to do with material objects, and such. It was not that they did not anticipate learning the language of the Pons. It was rather that they thought this familiarity on the part of at least some Pons with their own tongue would facilitate and expedite their efforts. Brenner looked back toward the low, gray, squat buildings of Company Station. He wanted to see something there, and he did not want to see it. The buildings seemed bleak in the rain, in the dim light. The nearest was some hundred yards back, away from the fence. He felt in his pocket, for the small package he had wrapped and placed there.
Brenner turned about, again, to look outward, through the fence.
The operator, not guard, had descended from the tower, some fifteen Commonworld feet tall, which gave him a view along the fence for some hundreds of yards on both sides, and then out, for another hundred yards or so, to the margin of the forest. He took the papers from Rodriguez and, holding them against the side of the tower, initialed them. He and Rodriguez then exchanged some remarks, many of them good-humored and rough, and some of which Brenner found crude and embarrassing. Such, Brenner supposed, with a twinge of envy, passes for camaraderie amongst boors. Amongstst these diverse observations were several on Pons, not all of which, as the reader may have suspected, were complimentary. The operator, it seemed, doubtless a provincial, or outworlder, had not received an appropriate conditioning, one which would have encouraged him to give certain principles priority over the apparent evidence of his senses, for example, with respect to the intellectual, moral, and social equivalence, once suitably defined, and properly understood, of all life forms, from the flatworm to the meditative, polyplike megabregma, forty percent of whose weight was cerebral tissue. Whereas perhaps there was an excuse for the operator, a company employee, and doubtless a simple, ill-educated outworlder, to manifest inappropriate discourse and express discouraged views, what excuse could there be, Brenner wondered, for Rodriguez? Clearly Rodriguez was not stupid. It is always unsettling when one who is obviously not stupid disagrees with one. One may then, of course, revise one’s opinion. Perhaps he is stupid, after all. Or, too, one might more charitably suppose a lack of information, insanity, or perhaps iniquity. Iniquities and insanities, of course, go in and out of fashion. If one wishes to reassure oneself that one is right, of course, it is easy to do so. One need only ask those who agree with one. No, Rodriguez did not respect the Pons. It was only too obvious that he did not take them seriously, that he held them in contempt. On the other hand, he did regard them as of anthropological interest, and perhaps even, for some reason, particularly so. As I have made clear earlier, Rodriguez was not a champion of value-free science. He had too many values. What was important to him was to understand the data, and to theorize about it intelligently, and such. Nothing in this approach requires that he arrive at politically acceptable results, or even that he approve of what he learns.
The Pons, there were several of them, perhaps thirty or forty, it was hard to tell, as they milled about, had clustered a few yards outside the outer gate.
Brenner glanced back toward Company Station. It was a little lighter now. The planks of the road leading to the gate were slick with rain. He again saw only the buildings, the mud, the sky, the rain.
Rodriguez joined him, thrusting the wet papers back inside his jacket. He then waved to the Pons outside the gate, affably. It seemed they did not dare to return his greeting.
“What are they wearing?” asked Brenner. It surely did not seem typical raingear, though, to be sure, it might have been closely woven.
“Robes, smocks,” said Rodriguez.
“On their heads, over their heads,” said Brenner.
“It appears to be some sort of hood,” said Rodriguez.
“It is some sort of ritual veiling?” asked Brenner. He had not, in his research on Pons, not that a great deal was known of them, come on anything of this sort. It was a detail which certainly would not be likely to be omitted, even from a superficial account.
“I do not think so,” said Rodriguez.
“Perhaps they are timid, frightened, pathologically shy,” suggested Brenner.
“Perhaps,” said Rodriguez.
“Are there females amongstst them?” asked Brenner. The clothing of Pons, he had gathered from his reading, and from certain drawings, as there had appeared, oddly enough, to be no film records, or even photographs, of Pons, as that of many parts of the home world, was designed to minimize, or conceal, sexual differences, this having to do with the political desiderata of personistic neuterism.
“Probably not in this bunch,” said Rodriguez. To be sure, it was difficult to tell.
The operator had now switched a red light on at the top of the tower, making it clear to all that the current was still on, and that the field was active. The switching from red to green, in color codes the origin of which was lost in antiquity, would indicate deactivation. Green would remain lit while the field remained deactivated. Its flashing would indicate the proximity of activation. The switch from a flashing green to a red, which would be sustained for a short time, indicated reactivation. Then the red light, too, would be extinguished, its illumination being unnecessary given the presumption of activation, the presumed normal condition of the field, and the posting of the area. If one were in doubt as to the activation of the field, of course, there were simple ways in which its condition might be ascertained. For example, one might toss a stick between the fences. If nothing happened, the field was not active. If, on the other hand, the stick seemed to be caught, as if it were lodged in a wall of water, and began to twist, and then, in an instant, burst apart, crackling, and flaming, this would indicate that the field was active.
> “They must be terribly shy,” said Brenner.
“I think it is rather that they are secretive,” said Rodriguez.
“I wonder what they look like,” said Brenner.
“We are going to find out,” said Rodriguez. He waved again to the Pons.
“I do not understand,” said Brenner.
“I do not like dealing with people who wear masks,” said Rodriguez.
“Why?” asked Brenner.
“Masks may conceal fangs,” he said.
He again waved affably at the Pons, who regarded them, clearly alert, clearly aware of them, but refraining from any explicit reciprocation of Rodriguez’s overture.
Brenner was uneasy. “You will not do anything foolish?” he asked.
“We must establish our footing with them,” said Rodriguez.
“If they are concerned with secrecy, and such,” said Brenner, “how is it that we are here? It seems unlikely they would simply open their lives, or culture, to us, if they commonly conceal it with such care.”
“Doubtless they want something from us,” said Rodriguez.
“What?” asked Brenner.
“Probably gifts, and such,” said Rodriguez. He had brought, of course, the customary trinkets, beads, ribbons, mirrors, and such, with which those of his species were wont to deal with, and impress, certain other life forms, which, in spite of their indubitable equivalence, might prefer colored glass to the abstractions of credits.
“The light is green,” said Brenner.
The two gates then slid back.
Rodriguez picked up a pebble and tossed it between the gates of the double fence. He was not the sort of fellow to trust to signals which might be deceptive, perhaps for so trivial a reason as a fault in wiring.
Brenner turned about, to look back toward the buildings of Company Station.
