by John Norman
“No,” said Brenner.
Tears sprang anew to her eyes.
“It is better that way,” said Brenner. In this fashion he might forget her the more easily. Too, not knowing her name would make it more difficult, or even impossible, to find her, or trace her, should he weaken. He must never see her again. He must never want to see her again. He told himself he must be like iron. He must regard her as only the meaningless occasion of an evening’s trivial pleasure. That was best. After all, was she not nothing, or next to nothing? Was she not only a female under contract? And had he not, even, had her on a chain?
“I do not know your name!” she said.
“I did not tell it to you,” he said.
“Who are you?” she asked. “What is your name?”
“It is unimportant,” he said.
“I see,” she sobbed.
“Come along,” said Rodriguez.
“You did such things to me,” she said. “You made me feel such things!”
Brenner was silent.
“And now you will not so much as tell me your name?” “No,” he said.
“We are ready,” said Rodriguez.
“What are you wearing under the brown dress?” asked Brenner.
“Nothing,” she said, bitterly.
“I did not think so,” he said.
“The zard does not permit us such frills,” she said.
Brenner smiled.
“I see that pleases you.”
“Of course,” he said.
“Return for me!” she cried.
“No,” said Brenner.
“Tell me who you are!”
“No,” he said.
“Oh!” she said, suddenly, pulling back from a Pon, who had been down on all fours, with one or two others, looking at her ankle, that with the cloth wrapped about the chain and disk. It had put its small hands on the cloth, as though to peep under it. “Get away!” she wept. She kicked, freeing her ankle from the small, inquisitive grasp. It scrambled back, quickly, like a small animal, and looked up at her. It was blinking, this clearly discernible through the apertures in the hood. Brenner hoped it was not disturbed. The others about, too, had drawn back, timidly. “Go away!” she said.
“Don’t frighten them!” said Brenner, angrily. “Stand still!”
She looked up at him, angrily, but obeyed.
“It is all right,” he said to the Pons, soothingly. He supposed at least one or two of them might understand him. Hopefully the tone of his voice might reassure them, if nothing else.
“I do not want them to touch me!” she said. “They are tiny, nasty creatures.”
“They are kindly, benign, social, gregarious, inquisitive creatures,” said Brenner. “We can learn much from them. Do not frighten them.”
How angry she was!
He did not want the Pons to associate those of his species with violence toward them, or with contempt for them. They must understand that he, at least, regarded them as wonderful life forms, and equivalent to, and wonderful like, all other life forms, regardless of what they might be, whether ponderous megabregmas, wonderful in their way, as what they were, megabregmas, or the two-foot-long, suction-disked blood slugs of Chios, which were wonderful in their way, as what they were, two-foot-long, suction-disked Chian blood slugs. Such insights had figured first in the teachings of mystics, managing to overcome the difficulties inherent in communicating the contents of ineffable experiences, but had later been discovered to be self-evident, at least to minds capable of detecting the self-evidence in question. It was well, too, that these things were self-evident, as they did not seem to be evident in other ways.
“Stand still,” said Brenner.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Brenner looked at her, sharply. He wondered if she were being ironic. But it did not seem so. She probably wants her pastry, he thought. That is why she has come. She does not wish to risk losing it.
“It is all right,” said Brenner to the Pons, soothingly. “It is all right.”
She looked away from Brenner. The Pons crept closer, again, to her ankle.
“They are merely curious,” he said.
“Surely they have seen such things before,” she said.
“Perhaps,” said Brenner. “I do not know.”
“I do not like them to touch me,” she said.
“They do not even understand such things,” he said.
“I do not know,” she said. “I do not know.”
He saw her suddenly shudder a little. The Pon, doubtless, had again touched the cloth at her ankle.
“Steady,” said Brenner.
Brenner looked down. The Pon had unwound the cloth from about her ankle and was gazing closely, inquisitively, at the chain and disk. He turned the disk from one side to the other, and then, carefully, others watching, as well, replaced the cloth.”
“You see,” said Brenner. “They were merely curious. Too, you note they have put things back exactly the way they were. No harm is done.”
“Let us be on our way,” said Rodriguez.
Brenner turned half about.
“Wait!” she said.
He turned back to face her. Of course he had forgotten her pastry!
“Do not leave me!” she said. “Not like this!”
“You can come with us through the fence, for a way,” he said. Perhaps he would make her wait a little for her pastry, or follow them for a time, not certain as to whether or not it would be given to her. To be sure, he did not wish her to accompany them into the forest, or far into it, for that might prove dangerous. Men from Company Station, he had learned, seldom entered it, unless armed. He supposed it probable that even the operator kept some sort of weapon in the gate house. After all, something unwelcome might appear at the gate if it were open, particularly at night.
“I am under contract,” she said. “I cannot go through the gate. It is not permitted to me!”
Yes, that makes sense, thought Brenner. Contracted women would not be coming and going as they pleased. That would not do at all. To some, it seemed, then, such as the brunette, under contract to the zard, this place, Company Station, did constitute a sort of prison. The maids at the hostel, too, he supposed, would not be permitted to exit through the gate without authorization, no more than, say, company property which, for most practical purposes, if he could believe Rodriguez, they were. To be sure, these provisions might be as much in their own best interests as in those of their contract holders. The forests were dangerous. Too, where would they go in them? The only port of exit on this lonely, outflung world was at Company Station. And, too, many of them at least, could be identified on either side of the fence by their chains and disks. To be sure, their plights were not as hopeless as those of slaves, whose very bodies were commonly marked. Brenner looked at the woman, and then down at her ankle. The first time he had seen her, yesterday, out in the mud and rain, he recalled she had not worn the chain and disk.
“Do not leave me!” she wept. “Remain here! Stay! Earn money! Buy my contract! It is for sale!”
“Do not be absurd,” said Brenner.
“It is not impossible!” she said. “Here there are lucrative posts for free men! You earn out-world pay! I am sure you could buy my contract! I am sure the zard will sell it!”
“You are being ridiculous,” said Brenner, angrily.
“Do you not like me?” she asked.
“You have pleasing curves,” he said.
“I love you!” she said.
“That is absurd,” said Brenner.
“I had rather be a constant joy to one man than a convenience, or a transient pleasure, to many!”
“You do not care for me,” said Brenner. “You merely wish to escape your contract.”
“No,” she said. “I love you!”
“That is absurd,” he said.
“And what is to become of me, other than eventual bondage on some far world?” she asked.
“You would look well, serv
ing in a G-string and collar,” said Brenner.
“In yours!” she said. “In yours! Do you not understand, as I do, that I am your rightful slave, that you are you are my rightful master?”
“You are a free woman,” said Brenner.
“In my heart I am your slave,” she wept.
“I know why you have come,” said Brenner. “I am only surprised that it means so much to you.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“The zard, I gather,” said Brenner, “does not know you are here.”
“No,” she said, puzzled, backing away a step. “He does not.”
“Yesterday, when we first met,” Brenner explained, “you did not wear the chain and disk outside, in the rain and mud. The zard, it seems, did not wish it dirtied. If you were on an errand for him now, or had his permission to leave the tavern, in such weather, I would suppose he would have again removed it.”
“Doubtless,” she said.
“Perhaps the cloth will protect it,” said Brenner.
“It is my hope that it will do so,” she said.
“I suggest that you hurry back to the tavern before your absence is detected.”
“Please do not leave me!” she wept.
“What you really want is clear to me,” said Brenner. “You need not cover it with so elaborate a pretense.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“What will be done with you, if you are apprehended by the zard, outside the establishment without permission?”
“I do not know,” she said. “I suppose I will be stripped, and chained to a post in the back yard, and kept there for a day or two, in the cold, in the rain and mud. Doubtless I will be whipped, such things.”
“You are bold to come here,” said Brenner.
“I love you,” she said.
“I am only surprised that so small a thing means so much to you.”
“Even if my love be no more than that of a slave, do not scorn it,” she said.
“Do not embarrass me,” said Brenner, “so prating of love.”
“What you did to me!” she said. “What you made me feel!”
“It was nothing,” said Brenner, angrily, “only an evening’s dalliance.”
“I love you!” she said. “I love you!”
“Do you want money?” he asked. “Do you want credits punched?”
She regarded him, aghast.
“The appropriate credits for your services were punched,” said Brenner. “Your use has been paid for. The zard and I are clear. The matter is done.”
“No,” she said. “Please!”
“Your use has been paid for,” said Brenner.
“I am not a whore,” she said, “who demeans you for her profit.”
“No,” he said. “You are under contract, and so your earnings go to your contract holder, who applies portions of them on your behalf, to pay off your contract.”
“Our contracts are never paid off!” she said. “We soon learn that!”
Brenner shrugged.
“To you,” she said, “I am not a whore, not even a woman under contract! To you I am a slave, only an animal to you, an animal who begs to love and serve, to give all of herself, wholly, devotedly, unquestioningly!”
“I know what you really want,” said Brenner.
“And what is that?” she asked.
“Apparently it means much to you,” he said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Surely you hinted about such things last night.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“And I understand that you do not have coins, or credits, in your own control, that you might spend as you wish.” In this respect, of course, women under contract would be rather analogous to slaves, who are totally, like other animals, without economic resources. They are totally dependent upon the master.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“Accordingly,” he said, “I can understand that even such small things may be important to you.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
He thrust his hand into his pocket. He drew forth the pastry in its wrapper. He partially unwrapped it. It was somewhat crushed now, from its sojourn in his jacket, and it was not at all likely that it was fresh, for he had obtained it at the hostel. But he did not doubt that it would still, though perhaps a bit dried, be tasty enough, and enough appreciated, given the circumstances. It reputedly housed a custard, and was roofed with a layer of chocolate.
“This is for you,” he said.
Some of the chocolate clung to the turned-back, opened wrapper.
“It is supposed to have custard in it,” he said.
He felt one of the Pons tugging at his sleeve. He looked back and he saw that Rodriguez had lined up several of the small creatures on each of the two ropes of the mud sled. Some of the other Pons had already gone through the gate and had busied themselves at their small, primitive camp outside the fence, striking tents, sacking belongings.
“Do you think this is why I have come?” she asked Brenner.
He held it out to her. “Take it,” he said.
“I love you,” she said.
He put the pastry in her hands.
“Don’t leave me,” she said.
He turned away from her and walked the few feet over the wet plank road to the vicinity of the sled, with its broad runners. Pons clustered about him.
“I do not know how long it will take to reach the Pon village,” said Rodriguez. “I can’t seem to get that out of the little bastards. I think we had better get started.”
The Pons outside the fence, at their camp, their work done, now seemed ready to depart, as well. Several of them stood there, tiny, clustered together, with their burdens. They seemed a dismal, forlorn crew, in the half light, in the rain, in their damp hoods, their wet, gray garb, like apparitions come from the forests, insubstantial like the fog which swirled about them, things only partly real. The Pons about them, though, seemed real enough, like small animals, pressing, urgent, tugging. Perhaps there was some place of safety they hoped to reach by nightfall, some cliff, or cave, where they might perch, or hide, until the morning, until they resumed their journey. Brenner did not think that their village, or villages, were close to Company Station. Everything he had heard suggested that that was not the case. It was supposed to take them days to reach the station. To be sure, they had short legs, and one of Brenner’s or Rodriguez’ species might cover the same ground in less time. How primitive were the Pons thought Brenner. Rodriguez had had to explain the sled to them. They did not even make use of the wheel. To be sure, wheeled vehicles would presumably not be particularly practical in the forests. There would be no roads there, at best, narrow trails.
“Let us be on our way,” said Rodriguez.
Brenner reached to one of the ropes. They were lifted now, one on either side of the sled, by Pons.
“No,” said Rodriguez. “They will do that.”
Brenner looked back to the woman.
“Don’t leave me!” she called. “I love you!”
He turned away from her. He must be strong. He must forget her.
“I hate you!” she cried. “I hate you!”
Rodriguez, with a wave of his arm, indicated that the Pons should proceed. The sled, with a squeak on the wet wood, began to move. It would not be a heavy weight for the Pons to draw, as there were several of them on the ropes. Rodriguez shook hands with the operator, who then climbed back to his tower. Brenner saw the sled slip down from the plank road onto the mud and gravel outside the gate. This made a different sound as the runners passed over mud and rock. In a moment then Rodriguez, too, had passed through the double gate. He followed the sled. After all, he did not know the way to the village, or villages. Only the Pons knew, now, thought Brenner. That would be different later.
He noted the line of march, azimuthlike, with relation to the detectable, but veiled position of Abydos’ star at the
time of morning. To be sure, this would give him little more than a direction, which might be reversed. And a direction might be easily confused, if only by a degree or two, which, over a lengthy distance, could produce an error which might not be inconsiderable. Too, if the Pons were as secretive and shy as it seemed they might be, their village might not even lie in the direction they set out. Indeed, they might utilize various shifts in direction, to make it difficult for strangers to retrace the journey. On the other hand, Brenner was not really worried about this sort of thing. He could depend on Rodriguez. He and Rodriguez had discussed the matter, even on the ship. Rodriguez, of course, had a compass, and would make a map of the journey, jotting down landmarks and, as he could, distances from point to point. In this way the simple stratagems of the Pons, if they saw fit to employ such, might easily, and without their knowledge, as they would not understand such things, be circumvented. How innocent and simple were the small creatures.
“I hate you!” he heard from behind him, and her sobbing.
He looked up at the light on the tower. It was now flashing green. The operator would not activate the field, of course, while anyone was visibly within its circuits, but, Brenner gathered, this was his way of suggesting to him that it was time for him to be on his way. And so he followed Rodriguez.
“I hate you!” he heard from behind him, once more.
Resolutely he continued on his way, and crossed the gate area, and stepped down into the mud and gravel on the other side. He heard the gates slide shut behind him.
He did not want to look back.
He stopped a few yards outside the gate. He looked to his left. The Pons who had broken their small camp were there. They stood there silently, together, with their burdens. They, apparently neat creatures, had cleared the area of their camp. They had even shouldered their tiny tent poles. In a day or so, with the rains, there would probably be very little evidence left behind that they had been there, perhaps some streaks of ashes, some partly burned wood, some marks on the ground.
Brenner then, not looking back, continued on his way.
Two Pons were close to him.
As Brenner went past, the Pons from the area of the camp fell into line behind him, and thereby behind Rodriguez, and the sled, as well.
The forests, some distance ahead, fog within the trees, seemed thick, and dismal.
