I'm sure. But gradually I increased in volume and my feeding hatch popped open.
"You want your ass kicked up your chest?" asked a voice I knew too well, though I had no idea who owned it.
"I'll do the ass-kicking!" I yelled back. My voice didn't have quite the effect it used to have on training fields when I maneuvered cavalry troops without the help of a caller. But it did well enough. Instead of a kick, I got another voice.
"Listen, Trash," he said, "up to now you've been a model slave. Don't start giving us shit except in your bucket, if you know what's good for you!"
"Take me out!"
"No slaves on deck."
"There are ten slaves on deck right now!"
"They're farmers. You're a sideshow."
"I'll kill myself."
"Naked? In the dark?"
"I'll lie on my back and bite my tongue off and drown on the blood!" I shouted, and for a moment I meant it, though I knew perfectly well that my tongue would heal too damn fast. I must have sounded crazy, though, because a new voice came. It was the captain.
He spoke softly, and the threat in his voice was clear. "There's only one reason we ever let a slave on deck out of turn. It's for punishment."
"Punish me! just do it in sunlight."
"The punishment usually begins with removal of the tongue."'
I laughed. "What do you do for an encore?
"We finish up by cutting off your balls." He meant it. A eunuch would fetch as good a price as a breeding slave. But that's only a mildly frightening threat to a man who already has three pairs of testicles. Maybe t was the testosterone that had given me an overlarge shot of courage.
"You can fry them and feed them to me for breakfast! Let me out!"
It wasn't entirely courage, of course. I knew my main value to them was as a freak. No one wants to see a freak that's been mutilated by men. Nature's mutilations only, please. They wouldn't harm me. In the meantime, the thought of another slave being on deck when I was stuck in a hole was the most outrageous provocation I had yet had in my life.
Still, I was surprised when they gave in and tossed ropes down to me. I took them and held on with four arms as they pulled me up.
I was more surprised at the intensity of their reaction, though I should have expected it: They had put a man with a large bosom in that cell, or a woman with a prick. They pulled out a monster.
I couldn't see anything. The light was too dazzling, and it was hard enough finding my balance on legs that had not really stood up in months. Some of my legs had never borne weight at all. I couldn't walk-- I could only lurch from one side to the other, struggling for equilibrium.
They weren't helping. Their screams were deafening, and I kept hearing the word devil and other words whose meaning I couldn't guess, except that the sailors were terribly frightened. Of me.
I knew an opportunity when I saw one.
I roared. They answered with a uniform shriek, and I made some fumbling steps toward the loudest group of screamers. I was answered with an arrow in my arm.
I am a Mueller. The pain didn't stop me, and as for the arm, I had several others just as good-- two, in fact, that were much better, since they had injured an arm that I didn't use much. I kept on advancing.
And now the terror had turned to awe. An arrow had not made the monster pause.
The captain was shouting. Orders, I supposed. I squinted against the light to try to see. The ocean was dazzling blue. The ship and everyone on it were invisible, shadows that flashed until I had to close my eyes again.
I heard someone coming, felt the vibration of the footsteps on the deck. I turned awkwardly, met the rush. It was then that I discovered I had grown an extra heart-- his wooden knife found the one I was used to, and it didn't stop me. I only knew weaponless warfare with my two original arms, but rather than let the sailors notice that fact, I got my extras into the act. They made me fumble at it, but it only delayed me a moment, and in this case delay was rather to my benefit. I took my attacker apart and threw pieces of him to the waiting sailors. I heard vomiting. I