The Totems of Abydos (20 page)

“And there are other tributes, too?” asked Brenner.

“Items of various sorts,” said Rodriguez. “Raw materials mostly.”

“What is the nature of the women?” asked Brenner.

“On the whole they would seem to be what you might expect,” said Rodriguez, “young, beautiful, and sexually responsive.”

“How do they know they are sexually responsive?” asked Brenner.

“There are tests,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner blushed.

“And interestingly,” said Rodriguez, “many of these women do not even realize they are, or would be, under certain conditions, helplessly sexually responsive, and as slaves. It has never occurred to them that the time might come when they would beg a man, piteously, and as a slave, for his least touch.”

What secrets, Brenner wondered, lie concealed within women, secrets of which they might themselves be unaware.

“A certain percentage of these women are mothers,” said Rodriguez. “It is speculated that these may be of interest as proven breeders.”

“I see,” said Brenner.

“Do these things come as a surprise to you?” asked Rodriguez.

“Yes,” said Brenner.

“They should not come as such a surprise,” said Rodriguez. “Surely you know that some slaving has taken place for centuries on the home world, both for export and for internal use.”

“I have heard such,” admitted Brenner.

“And that certain women of the home world, unwary enough to visit certain worlds, or foolish enough to visit certain districts or quarters of certain worlds, have vanished, presumably having been taken as slaves.”

“Yes,” admitted Brenner.

“Do you think they were careless?” asked Rodriguez.

“Surely,” said Brenner.

“Perhaps,” said Rodriguez, “But perhaps, too, rather, they wanted a chain on their neck, and a master.”

“Surely not!” said Brenner.

“The levies are much the same thing,” said Rodriguez, “only periodic and regularized.”

“I understand,” said Brenner. He glanced back at the bed, where the maid had lain.

“No,” said Rodriguez. “That one was not levied. She is not a slave. She is a contract slut.”

“But she is, in effect, a slave,” said Brenner.

“No,” said Rodriguez. “She is merely under contract. That is quite different.”

“How can she be freed?” asked Brenner.

“By paying off her contract with her earnings, which she will not be able to do,” said Rodriguez. “Or by her contract holder.”

“As a slave might be freed?” asked Brenner.

“A slave—freed?” asked Rodriguez.

“Yes,” said Brenner.

Rodriguez laughed, and wiped his face with his arm.

“Is that thought so absurd?” asked Brenner, angrily.

“Yes,” said Rodriguez.

“But the contract person’s contract might be purchased by someone, who would then pay it off for her?”

“Yes,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner continued to stare at the bed.

“Perhaps you are thinking of buying her contract, and then freeing her?” said Rodriguez.

“No,” said Brenner.

“Good,” said Rodriguez. “That is much better.”

“What?” asked Brenner.

“Buying her contract, and not freeing her.”

“No!” said Brenner.

“But you would want to try her out first,” said Rodriguez.

“No, no!” said Brenner, shuddering.

“She looks like she would make a pleasant armful,” said Rodriguez.

“No!” said Brenner.

“I would have thought so,” said Rodriguez.

“No, no,” said Brenner.

“It is just as well,” said Rodriguez. “You could probably not afford to buy it, any more than she could afford to pay it off, given the expenses charged to her for board and room, and such things.”

Brenner regarded him.

“Not on an adjunct’s salary,” said Rodriguez. “These contracts are usually held by businesses, institutions, and such. They tend to be expensive.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Brenner.

“Because the contract slut is not a slave, but a free woman, and can be held openly on worlds on which slavery might remain a sensitive issue, as it is not on many other worlds, more progressive worlds.”

“‘Progressive’?” asked Brenner.

“To be sure, an illusive word,” smiled Rodriguez. “You may define progress as constant change, even racing from one stultifying madness to another, but it need not be defined that way. For example, it may be thought of rather as the attempt to approximate an ideal. If that is so, then refinement, restoration, and such, if they result in a situation which more closely approximates the ideal, would constitute progress. It is not clear, for example, that continuing to go down a wrong road constitutes progress. Also, you must be aware that on many worlds certain institutions, such as explicit social stratifications, aristocracies, slaveries, and such, have been introduced, to counter the decline, disintegration, bankruptcy, and chaos of failed systems, to succeed them with more honest, more realistic forms. Not every world has to be founded on lies.”

“Let us not speak further of these things!” said Brenner.

“It is interesting,” said Rodriguez, looking at the bed to whose surface he had ordered the maid.

“What is interesting?” said Brenner.

“On your salary,” said Rodriguez, “you presumably could not afford to buy her contract, that of the maid, the free woman, but with the same salary, on many worlds, such as Sybaris and Megara, it would be quite easy for you to own one or more slaves.”

“Please,” protested Brenner.

“You could do with them what you wish,” said Rodriguez.

“Please,” said Brenner.

“They are beautiful, and cheap, and hot,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner looked at him.

“It is largely a matter of legality, and politics, and supply and demand, such things,” said Rodriguez.

“Wait for me,” said Brenner. He looked at the bell on the wall. He trembled a little. “Do not go out without me. Do not leave me here alone. Wait for me.”

“All right,” said Rodriguez, agreeably enough.

Brenner then, carrying his robe, and a change of clothing, entered the bath.

Rodriguez pulled a notebook out of his bag and sat down in a chair. It was nice, in a way, to sit in a chair and stay there, without the webbing.

In a short while Brenner had emerged, dressed, from the bath.

He then accompanied Rodriguez from the room. In the hall they encountered a maid, she whom Rodriguez had ordered to the bed. It seemed their encounter was inadvertent. She had some towels over one arm. Rodriguez did not speak to her as he passed her.

Neither did Brenner. She did not raise her eyes as they passed.

* * *

The zard, the proprietor of the bar now patronized by Rodriguez and Brenner, as I have mentioned, had now returned to his desk, from his short journey to the front door, to reconnoiter the weather, which he had done to his apparent dissatisfaction. It was a poor night for business in Company Station. Too, it was not, in general, the sort of weather of which his kind approved. To be sure, it was not exactly the sort of weather which was universally greeted with enthusiasm by the species of Rodriguez and Brenner either. The girl was still at Brenner’s thigh, with her head down. She, as I have indicated, clung to his leg, as before. This disturbed Brenner considerably, but he could not deny that there was something in him that was not dissatisfied to have her there. Certainly he was still cognizant of the feel of her body, the softness of it, as it has been pressed so closely against him in her terror, her apparent fear of the proprietor, that unspeakable, luscious softness, which, he had not doubted was intended to be well betrayed by the silk she wore. That softness, as we recall, had alarmed and disturbed him. He had then taken a drink, angrily.

“Get away,” said Brenner, angrily, to the girl.

She looked up at him, frightened. “Please do not send me away,” she begged.

“Your lips are painted,” said Brenner.

They had not been painted when he had seen her before, several streets away, earlier in the day, for, as you have doubtless suspected, this is the same young woman into whom he had inadvertently struck earlier, in their small accident, the one who had cried out so angrily, of whom he had caught but a brief, striking glimpse, the one who had then hurried away, in anger, making her way barefoot through the cold mud, clutching the cloak about her. Naturally she seemed much different now, kneeling at his feet, made-up, in a bit of silk.

“It is called ‘lipstick,’” she said.

“What is on your upper eyelids,” he asked.

“Eye shadow,” she said.

He continued to look at her. “There are various cosmetics,” she said, “eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, such things.”

“You are
painted
,” he said.

“Some men like it,” she said.

“I am not a man,” said Brenner. “I am a
person
.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“To be sure, Brenner thought of himself as a man, at least secretly, and would surely have referred to himself as such in his conversations with Rodriguez, and with others whom he might well know, and trust, but the title ‘man’ in this context made him distinctly uneasy, for it suggested something quite different from the creature at his feet, who was clearly not a man, but something remarkably, wonderfully, excitingly, and marvelously different. Brenner was not willing to fulfill any expectations, or accept any obligations or responsibilities, which might seem to be involved with being a
man
, at least in a situation such as this. He did not wish to risk relating to her as might have a member of the opposite sex. He did not wish to insult her. Too, he felt safer clinging to the myth of sameness. To be sure, though it disturbed him, he was not really displeased to be addressed as ‘sir’ by this delectable creature. If there were some subtle inconsistency here, he did not find it objectionable. Besides, by the waiters in restaurants, by the male attendants in conveyances, in hotels, and such, he would often have been addressed as ‘sir’. And the locution, he reminded himself, was probably required of her by her contract holder. He thought of having her address him by the proper neuteristic term of ‘pers’, but then, for some reason, decided against it. He would permit her, devolved though it might be, to continue to address him not only by an appellation indicative of respect, but by one, in her case, appropriate to a member of an opposite sex.

“Do you like them?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I think they make me pretty,” she said. As she had looked down and whispered this, her thighs had moved slightly under the silk. This suggested to him that there might be more involved here than a simple matter of aesthetics. Rather he suspected that the cosmetics, perhaps because of some meaning or other, also made her feel in a certain way, a way which, it seemed, she might not be likely to mention explicitly to Brenner.

“They demean you,” said Brenner.

“Then I like being demeaned in this way,” she said.

“They make you attractive, as a decorated animal,” he said, irritably.

“It is my hope that they make me attractive,” she said.

“And,” said Brenner, irritably, deciding to risk a shot in the dark, “they also make you feel attractive.”

She looked up, startled.

“And you personally find them arousing, and exciting,” he said.

She put her head down, quickly. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.

Brenner was pleased with this outcome. His shots, it seemed, had exactly and decisively struck home. To be sure, if Rodriguez, and other renegades, was right, and females really had sexual needs, and such, perhaps the shots, so to speak, had not been fired so much in the dark as he had thought. She kept her head down. He then became vaguely conscious for the first time, in a real sense, of the power he held over this creature. He did not, of course, bother to mention the effects of the cosmetics upon himself. He had heard, incidentally, that on some worlds slaves were by custom refused cosmetics. He thought such worlds must be rather puritanical. To be sure, it seemed strange to think of a world as puritanical on which beautiful slaves might have to labor for months, striving to improve their services, and to become more and more pleasing, before they would be thrown a garment.

“I think you should leave now,” said Brenner.

She lifted her head. She looked up at him, frightened. “Please do not send me away,” she begged.

Brenner looked down at her. He then became even more conscious of his power over her. This pleased him. She was, in some way he was not clear about, at his mercy.

“Why not?” he asked. After all, he was of the home world. Surely he should not keep this person beside him, in this degraded position, one of respect, at his feet.

“I am sorry I was cross with you earlier today,” she said.