“Let’s not kill each other over it. It were just a thought.”
“Okay. But let’s not have any more idiotic talk about
selling Folly or anyone else.”
The object of this exhausted discussion gazed curiously
up at her rescuer. “Why don’t you sell me? I’m nothing to
you. I’m nothing to anyone except myself. Don’t think I’m
being ungrateful. I wouldn’t have lived another month on
that ship. I want to help you. I can’t think of any other
way to repay you for your kindnesses.” She threw a
warning glance the otter’s way. Wisely, Mudge said nothing.
“All I have, though, is myself. If you need money so
badly, selling me should solve your problem. I’m worth
something.” She turned away, unable to meet his eyes.
“Even after the way I’ve been used.”
He tried hard not to be angry with her. “Where I come
from, Folly, we don’t sell people.”
“You don’t?” She looked genuinely puzzled. “Then
what do you do with people who have nothing else to
do?”
“We put ’em on welfare, social security.”
She shook her head. “Those words mean nothing to
me.”
He tried to explain. “We see to it that everyone is
guaranteed some sort of minimum income, some kind of
sustenance.”
“Even if they’re no good at anything?”
“Even if they’re no good at anything.”
“That doesn’t seem very efficient.”
“Maybe it’s not efficient, but it’s human.”
142
Alan Dean Foster
“Brock’s blocks, now there you ‘ave it, luv. That
explains it all. Sounds like the sort o’ bizarre scheme a
bunch o’ ‘umans would dream up.”
“Nobody gets sold,” Jon-Tom announced with finality.
“Right then, mate. Wot do you propose we do for