A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows by Poul Anderson. Chapter 1, 2

and weeping. Dimly she heard: “That was five seconds’ worth. Direct

nerve stim from the bracelet, triggers a center in the brain. Harmless

for periods of less than a minute, if you haven’t got a weak heart or

something. Do you understand you’d better be a good girl? All right, on

your feet.”

As she swayed erect, the shudders slowly leaving her, he smirked and

muttered, “You know, you’re a looker. Exotic; none of this standardized

biosculp format. I’d be tempted to bid on you myself, except the price

is sure to go out of my reach. Well … hold still.”

He did no more than feel and nuzzle. She endured, thinking that probably

soon she could take a long, long, long hot shower. But when a guard had

conducted her to the women’s section, she found the water was cold and

rationed. The dormitory gaped huge, echoing, little inside it other than

bunks and inmates. The mess was equally barren, the food adequate but

tasteless. Some twenty prisoners were present. They received her kindly

enough, with a curiosity that sharpened when they discovered she was

from a distant planet and this was her first time on Terra. Exhausted,

she begged off saying much and tumbled into a haunted sleep.

The next morning she got a humiliatingly thorough medical examination. A

psychotech studied the dossier on her which Naval Intelligence had

supplied, asked a few questions, and signed a form. She got the

impression he would have liked to inquire further–why had she

rebelled?–but a Secret classification on her record scared him off. Or

else (because whoever bought her would doubtless talk to her about it)

he knew from his study how chaotic and broken her memories of the

episode were, since the hypnoprobing on Diomedes.

That evening she couldn’t escape conversation in the dormitory. The

women clustered around and chattered. They were from Terra, Luna, and

Venus. With a single exception, they had been sentenced to limited terms

of enslavement for crimes such as repeated theft or dangerous

negligence, and were not very bright or especially comely.

“I don’t suppose anybody’ll bid on me,” lamented one. “Hard labor for

the government, then.”

“I don’t understand,” said Kossara. Her soft Dennitzan accent intrigued

them. “Why? I mean, when you have a worldful of machines, every kind of

robot–why slaves? How can it … how can it pay?”

The exceptional woman, who was handsome in a haggard fashion, answered.

“What else would you do with the wicked? Kill them, even for tiny

things? Give them costly psychocorrection? Lock them away at public

expense, useless to themselves and everybody else? No, let them work.

Let the Imperium get some money from selling them the first time, if it

can.”

Does she talk like that because she’s afraid of her bracelet? Kossara

wondered. Surely, oh, surely we can complain a little among ourselves!

“What can we do that a machine can’t do better?” she asked.

“Personal services,” the woman said. “Many kinds. Or … well,

economics. Often a slave is less efficient than a machine, but needs

less capital investment.”

“You sound educated,” Kossara remarked.

The woman sighed. “I was, once. Till I killed my husband. That meant a

life term like yours, dear. To be quite safe, my buyer did pay to have

my mind corrected.” A sort of energy blossomed in look and tone. “How

grateful I am! I was a murderess, do you hear, a murderess. I took it on

myself to decide another human being wasn’t fit to live. Now I know–”

She seized Kossara’s hands. “Ask them to correct you too. You committed

treason, didn’t you say? Beg them to wash you clean!”

The rest edged away. Brain-channeled, Kossara knew. A crawling went

under her skin. “Wh-why are you here?” she stammered. “If you were

bought–”

“He grew tired of me and sold me back. I’ll always long for him … but

he had the perfect right, of course.” The woman drew nearer. “I like

you, Kossara,” she whispered. “I do hope we’ll go to the same place.”

“Place?”

“Oh, somebody rich may take you for a while. Likelier, though, a

brothel–”

Kossara yanked free and ran. She didn’t quite reach a toilet before she

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