the Turian hexameter, should prose be allowed in song drama, the historicity of Hesius, the reform of the calendar, the dark geometries, the story of the czehar, the policies of the Salarian confederation, the nature of the moons, the sumptuary laws of Ti, the history of Ar.”
“Some men enjoy a conversation with a slave,” said another, “until they remind her that she is in a collar, and put her to the furs where she belongs.”
“I am educated on my world,” I said, “not yours!”
“This is now your world,” said a slave.
“And on it you are uneducated,” said another.
“She is illiterate and stupid,” said a slave.
“I am not stupid!” I said.
“Ignorant then,” said another.
“Yes, ignorant and illiterate,” said another.
“But she is pretty,” said Janina.
“She might look well, roped at a man’s feet,” said another.
“As Earth sluts go,” said another.
“So, too, might a she-tarsk,” said another.
I shook my ankle, angrily, with a rattle of chain.
Two of the girls laughed.
“It is on you, little vulo,” said a girl.
“Do not demean me!” I said.
“How can one demean a slave?” asked a girl.
“I am not a slave!” I cried.
“We are all slaves,” said a girl.
“Not I!” I cried.
“Do you think we do not know a slave when we see one?” asked a girl. “Consider your figure, your desires, your needs, what you most want.”
“A collar,” said another.
“No!” I cried.
“It is obvious,” said another, “even to look upon you. You are a natural slave, a slave in your very nature, a needful chattel, one miserable and unfulfilled otherwise, a needful chattel requiring a master.”
“No!” I said. “No!” I pulled at the chain. How I feared what they said was true! How I feared I might be a slave! And surely I had understood myself as, and accepted myself as, a slave, a rightful slave, even on Earth. But that was before, before!
“For days you have been different,” said Relia.
“What happened?” asked Janina.
“Nothing,” I said, angrily.
“You will soon feel better,” said Janina.
“It is not like you had been sold from a beloved household,” said another.
“Do not fret, Laura,” said Relia. “You need only the proper master, and a touch of his whip.”
“I am going to escape,” I said.
There was at that point a great crash of thunder, and several of us cried out. I had cried out for I was startled. I suppose we all were. I, however, unlike, I am sure, several of the others, took the mighty crash, which seemed to shake the very logs of the long kennel, as no more than a natural thing, a simple, if impressive, disturbing, harsh, violent manifestation of suddenly fierce, unusual weather. Some of the girls, however, particularly those of the First Knowledge, deemed lightning, at least upon occasion, the cast, fiery missile of angered Priest-Kings, and its successor, thunder, as proclaiming, for all to understand, the fact of its terrible passage. A moment later we heard a torrent of rain beat against the low roof of the kennel.
“To where?” asked a girl.
“I do not know,” I said, “to anywhere.”
“When will you escape?” asked a girl.
“Sooner or later,” I said, “I will be assigned away from the dock area, to root out vegetables, to pick berries, to gather firewood, something.”
“Do not run,” said a girl.
“There is nowhere to run,” said another girl.
“You are collared,” said another.
“You will be hamstrung, fed to sleen,” said a girl.
“Fear the forest,” said another.
“You will not be able to find your way, and what way might you try to find?”
“You are kajira. You will have no way to find.”
“The only way for you is to the feet of a master.”
“You will wander in circles,” said another.
“You will be lost,” said another.
“You will starve,” said another.
“Winter is coming,” said another.
“There are animals,” said another. “Sleen, panthers.”
“I am not afraid,” I said, though I was afraid, very afraid.
“You do not want freedom,” said a girl. “You want a master. You want to kneel naked before a man, and bend down and kiss his feet. You want to lift your head, and lick and kiss his whip. You want to be owned, to belong wholly, to submit, to obey, to be dominated, to be mastered, to be possessed as only a slave can be possessed, to grovel, to selflessly love and serve.”
“No, no, no!” I said.
“Whatever man sees you will bring you back, or keep you,” said another.
“Perhaps they will free me!” I said.
“You are too pretty to free,” said another.
“You will be taken in hand, and thrown to a man’s feet,” said another, “where you