“Margaret Alyssa Cameron,” I said. “Perhaps you recognize the name?”
“No,” he said.
“Perhaps you remember me from a large store, in a great city, on a far world, when you first laid eyes upon me?” I said.
“No,” he said.
“Or from an exposition cage in Brundisium?”
“No,” he said.
“Or, say, from a wharf, a dock?” I said.
“That is it!” he said.
Could he really not remember that it was he who had brought me to the collar?
Had it not been for him I would not now be on this world, half naked, with a marked thigh and an encircled neck, at the mercy of masters.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked.
“Margaret Alyssa Cameron,” I said.
“That was your free name,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then it is no longer your name,” he said.
I was silent.
“Is it?” he said.
“No, Master,” I said.
“Surely you are aware,” he said, “that as a slave you have no name, any more than any other beast, save as masters might choose to name you.”
I remained silent.
“That is true, is it not?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“What are you called?” he asked.
“Here I am called ‘Vulo’,” I said.
“Amusing,” he said.
“I have been named ‘Laura’,” I said.
“I know,” he said. Of course he would know. That was the name under which I would have been hunted.
“Master has captured me,” I said.
“You have an accent,” he said.
“I am a barbarian,” I said.
“Your accent may improve later, and, in time, might even be lost,” he said, “unless a master would prefer for you to retain at least a trace of it, as a charming feature.”
I was very angry, standing before him.
“Those of your sex,” he said, “commonly have an excellent aptitude for the acquisition of languages.”
“May I withdraw?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “That is because, over countless generations, you have been traded about, exchanged, captured, carried off, and so on, with the result that you must learn, and quickly, the language of your possessors, your captors, masters, and such. Those with the highest skills in such matters would be the most likely to survive, to please, to be used for the purposes of reproduction, and such.”
“How is it,” I asked, “that Master accompanied Master Axel of Argentum in his hunt?”
“I was bored,” he said. “I thought the pursuit of a foolish slave might provide something in the nature of a diversion.”
“Only that?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “What else?”
“It made no difference that it was I?” I asked.
“Of course not,” he said. “Why should it?”
“You would have followed any,” I asked, “as easily, as willingly, as diligently?”
“Of course,” he said.
I turned out my hip, and straightened my shoulders, as I had been taught in my training. A girl has powers.
“I think, rather,” I said, “Master finds this slave of interest.”
“Does your body mark well under the attentions of a slave whip?” he asked.
“Master does not own me,” I said.
“What a vain little piece of collar meat you are,” he said. “How are you different from hundreds of others, similar, and better? You are scouted, observed, researched, inquired about, filmed and photographed in various lights, at various times of day, in various locations, against various backgrounds, engaged in various activities, in various garmentures. These pictures and reports are assessed. Points are assigned. You are even examined while asleep in your own bed. You are stripped and photographed, variously. Your measurements are taken, in detail, your bosom, waist, thighs, wrists, ankles. In this way, in your sleep, as you are gently sedated, you are measured variously, for example, your neck for the collar, your wrists and ankles for wrist and ankle rings, and so on. Then you are reclothed, and in the morning, you awaken, refreshed, and know nothing of all this. If you are found satisfactory, your name is entered on an acquisition list. You are then, unbeknownst to yourself, a Gorean slave girl. It only remains then that you be harvested, perhaps months later. Thus, small, vain kajira, you see there is nothing of particular interest or nothing special about you.”
“I see,” I said. I wondered if he were trying to convince me, or himself.
“You pose prettily,” he said.
“Am I to understand that Master finds me of no interest?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “of no interest.”
“Master does not want this slave?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “The slave is common meat, even inferior stock.”