“But who-”
“They call themselves Samizdat - an old word, some language I never heard of, supposed to mean underground or something. Maybe it does, maybe not. That doesn’t matter. But the name does, and your keeping it quiet does.”
Study, work, practice with Abe. When she thought about it - which she did rarely - it was sort of a parody of the life she’d expected at home on Myriad. School, household chores, the tight companionship other friends. But flunking a test at home had meant a scolding; here it meant a beating. Let Januk spill precious rationed food - her eyes filled, remembering the sugar that last night - and her mother would expostulate bitterly. But if she spilled a keg of seeds, hauling it to the growing frames, her supervisor would cuff her sharply, and probably dock her a meal. And instead of friends her own age, to gossip about schoolmates and families, to share the jokes and dreams, she had Abe. Time passed, time she could not measure save by the subtle changes in her own body: a little taller, she thought. A little wider of hip, more roundness, even though the slave diet kept her lean.
It finally occurred to her to wonder why they were allowed such freedom, when she realised that other slave friendships were broken up intentionally, by the supervisors. Abe grinned mischievously. “I’m valuable; I told you that. And they think I need a lovely young plaything now and then -”
Sass reddened. Here girls younger than she were taught arts of love; but on Myriad, in her family’s religion, only those old enough to start a separate family were supposed to know how. Although they’d all complained mildly, life on a pioneer planet kept them too busy to regret. Abe went on.
“I told ‘em I’d instruct you myself. Didn’t want any of their teachings getting in my way.” Sass stared at the floor, furious with him and his amusement. “Don’t fluff feathers at me, girl,” he said firmly. “I saved you a lot of trouble. You’d never have been assigned that full-time, smart as you are, and saleable as tech-slaves are, but still…”
“All right.” It came out in a sulky mutter, and she cleared her throat loudly. “All right. I understand -”
“You don’t, really, but you will later.” His hand touched her cheek, and turned her face towards his. “Sass, when you’re free-and I do believe you’ll be free some day - you’ll understand what I did and why. Reputation doesn’t mean anything here. The truth always does. You’re going to be a beauty, my girl, and I hope you enjoy your body in all ways. Which means you deciding when and how.’*
She didn’t feel comfortable with him for some time after that. Some days later, he met her with terrifying news.
“You’re going to be sold,” he said, looking away from her. “Tomorrow, the next day - that soon. This is our last meeting. They only told me because they offered me another - “
“But, Abe -” she finally found her voice, faint and trembling as it was.
“No, Sass.” He shook his head. “I can’t stop it.”
Tears burst from her eyes. “But -but it can’t be -”
“Sass,think!” His tone commanded her; the tears dried on her cheeks. “Is this what I’ve taught you, to cry like any silly spoiled brat of a girl when trouble comes?”
Sass stared at him, and then reached for the physical discipline he’d taught her. Breathing slowed, steadied; she quit trembling. Her mind cleared of its first blank terror.
“That’s better. Now listen-” Abe talked rapidly, softly, the rhythm of his speech at first strange and then compelling. When he stopped, Sass could hardly recall what he’d said, only that it was important, and she would remember it later. Then he hugged her, for the first time, his strength heartening. She still had her head on his shoulder when the supervisor arrived to take her away.
She passed through the sale barn without really noticing much; this time the buyer had her taken back to the port, to a scarred ship with no visible registration numbers. Inside, her escort handed her collar thong to a lean man with scarlet and gold collar tabs. Sass recalled the rank-senior pilot-from a far-distant shipping consortium. He looked her over, then shook his head.
“Another beginner. Bright stars, you’d think they’d realise I need something more than a pilot apprentice. And a dumb naked girl who probably doesn’t even speak the same language.” He turned away and poked the bulkhead. With a click and hiss, a locker opened; he rummaged inside and pulled out rumpled tunic and pants, much-mended.
“Here. Clothes. You understand?” He mimed dressing, and Sass took the garments, putting them on as he watched. Then he led her along one corridor, then into a pop-tube that shot them to the pilot’s “house” - a small cramped compartment lined with vidscreens and control panels. To Sass’s relief, her training made sense of the chaos of buttons and toggles and flicking lights. That must be the Insystem computer, and that the FTL toggle, with its own shielded computer flickering, now, in not-quite-normal space. The ship had two Insystem drives, one suitable for atmospheric landings. The pilot tweaked her thong and grinned when she looked at him.
“I can tell you recognise most of this. Have you ever been off-station?” He seemed to have forgotten that she might not speak his language. Luckily, she could.
“No… not since I came.”
“Your ratings are high - let’s see how you do with this…” He pointed to one of the three seats, and Sass settled down in front of a terminal much like that in training - even the same manufacturer’s logo on the rim. He leaned over her, his breath warm on her ear, and entered a problem she remembered working.
“I’ve done that one before,” she said.
“Well, then, do it again.” Her fingers flew over the board: codes for origin and destination, equations to calculate the most efficient combination of travel time, fuel cost of Insystem drive, probability flux of FTL… and, finally, the transform equations that set up the FTL path. He nodded when she was done.
“Good enough. Now maximise for travel time, using the maximum allowable FTL-flux.”
She did that, and glanced back. He was scowling.
“You’d travel a.35 flux path? Where’d you get that max from?” Sass blushed; she’d misplaced a decimal. She placed the errant zero, and accepted the cuff on her head with equanimity. “That’s better, girl,” he said. “You youngers haven’t seen what a high flux means - be careful, or you’ll have us spread halfway across some solar system, and you won’t be nothin’ but a smear of random noise in somebody’s radio system. Now - what’s your name?”
She blinked at him. Only Abe had used her name. But he stared back, impudent and insistent, and ready to give her a clout. “Sass,” she said. He grinned again, and shrugged.
“Suits you,” he said. Then he swung into one of the other seats, and cleared her screen. “Now, girl, we go to work.”
Life as an indentured apprentice pilot - the senior pilot made it clear they didn’t like the word “slave” - was considerably more lax than her training had been. She wore the same collar, but the thong was gone. No one would tell her what the ship’s allegiance was - if any - or any more than its immediate next destination, but aside from that she was treated as a crew member, if a junior one. Besides senior pilot Krewe, two junior pilots were aboard: a heavy-set woman named Fersi, and a long, angular man named Zoras. Three at a time worked in the pilot-house when manoeuvring from one drive system to another, or when using Insystem drives. Sass worked a standard six hour shift as third pilot under the others. When they were off, one or the other of the pilots gave her instruction daily - ship’s day, that is. Aside from that, she had only to keep her own tiny cubicle tidy, and run such minor errands as they found for her. The rest of the time she listened and watched as they talked, argued, and gambled.