seemed likely, given the selections of nature over countless generations, that they had been designed to be handled, and well. It was natural then that they might be of interest to men, regardless of the danger, or inconvenience, of this to the maintenance of certain political arrangements. If moons were political, thought Brenner, they would perhaps disclaim their effects on the tides. If flowers were political they would perhaps scold bees for having been lured to their nectar. Did the blonde not know she was a female, and an attractive one? Brenner looked at her. Yes, thought Brenner, she has been designed to be handled. Her present brief garmenture, of course, left little doubt as to the matter.
“You wished to use his interest in you,” said Rodriguez to the blonde.
“No!” she said.
“You put him off,” he said.
“Of course!” she said.
“You wished to whet his appetite,” said Rodriguez. “What was it you were out to buy?”
“Nothing!” she said.
“What?” he asked.
“Promotion!” she said, angrily.
Rodriguez leaned back, regarding her.
“The company is not like the home world!” she said.
Rodriguez nodded.
In the company, as in most such companies, men remained important. There were a number of reasons for this.
“A woman must do her best for herself,” she said.
“You do not think it is an accident that you were stranded on Thasos, do you?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Not now.”
“Nor that the agent there was so cooperative, and such?”
“No,” she said, bitterly, putting her head down.
“It seems, from your letter,” said Rodriguez, “that you have rethought your original position in this matter.”
“Yes,” she said.
“And now,” said Rodriguez, “if I am not mistaken, you are willing to crawl back to this fellow on your hands and knees, begging his forgiveness.”
“On my belly,” she said, bitterly.
Rodriguez fingered the letter, idly.
“You must have it delivered!” she said.
“Why?” asked Rodriguez.
“I must be rescued!” she said.
“And you think this fellow will do so?”
“Of course,” she said.
“But I gather from your letter,” he said, “that your contract was sold on Damascus.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Why not on Chios or Thera?” he asked.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Both are closer to Thasos than Damascus,” he said.
“Yes?” she said.
“Doesn’t it seem strange to you then that your contract was sold on Damascus? Indeed, why was it not sold even on Thasos?”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“You could not be traced from a sale on Damascus,” he said.
She regarded him, frightened.
“Your fellow on Naxos surely knew that,” said Rodriguez. And so, too, incidentally, would have the agent on Thasos.”
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“Is it not obvious?” asked Rodriguez.
“No!” she said.
“You have been thrown away,” said Rodriguez. “Your fellow on Naxos, obviously, has no interest in getting you back.”
“No!” she said. “That cannot be!”
“He has doubtless dismissed you from his mind,” said Rodriguez. “He has doubtless forgotten about you.”
“But I am different now!” she said. “I am contrite! I am willing to do what he wants!”
“You will now do what any man wants,” said Rodriguez.
She shrank back, in the collar and chain.
“Quite,” he added.
“He can’t have forgotten me!” she said. “He wanted me!”
“Your contract was sold on Damascus,” Rodriguez reminded her. “He has rid himself of you.”
“No,” she said.
“Doubtless he has others,” said Rodriguez.
“No!” she said.
“Do not be naive,” said Rodriguez.
“It is only necessary that I let him know my whereabouts,” she said. “He has doubtless, by now, regretted his decision, and will hasten to arrange my rescue!”
Rodriguez smiled.
“Yes!” she said.
“And what do you think you would then be to him?” he asked.
“I do not care what I would then be to him!” she said.
“Do you think he will restore your freedom, your position, your salary, such things?”
“No,” she said.
“At most what could you be to him, a maid under contract, at a walled country house, on a world occasionally visited? Perhaps you would be assigned as a hostess in a company resort on some world, where he might, on some vacation or another, see to it that a certain portion of your time was reserved for him.”
She looked down, her small fists clenched.
“He might even have you embonded,” said Rodriguez. “He might find that amusing.”
“No!” she said.
“You might become a brothel slave,” he said, “chained to a bed on Sybaris.”
“Please see that the letter is posted,” she whispered. “I must be rescued!”
“Doubtless,” said Rodriguez, “you stole the paper and the ink used in this letter, and the use of its writing implement. I expect such things are not commonly at the disposal of contractees.”
“Please,” she whispered. “He can hear! He can understand!”