"One last requirement must be met to justify all of this slave factor's allegations: The two fertilized ova must be removed from vitro and planted in the womb of the donor of the oogonium, and there allowed to develop as twins through natural gestation and birth.
"Am I right, Lazarus?"
Exacly right! Go to the head of the class, dear; you get a gold star on your report card. Minerva, I don't know that it happened that way. But that's what the factor claimed, and that's what his exhibits-lab reports, holomovies, and so forth-seemed to show. But that thief may have faked those "proofs" and offered a random pair not likely to fetch a price above average-save for his fancy sales talk. The so-called proofs looked good, and lab reports and such carried, a bishop's chop and seal. The stills and movies looked good, too-but how can a layman judge? Even if those exhibits weren't phony, all they could prove was that such a process had once taken place; they did not prove that these kids were the result. Shucks, they might have been used to sell many slave pairs, with a bishop in on the racket.
I looked over the stuff, including a scrapbook of the kids growing up, said, "Very interesting," and started to, leave.
This pimple teleported himself between me and the tent flap. "Master," he said urgently. "Kind and generous sir- twelve thousand?"
Minerva, my trader instincts took over. "One thousand!" I snapped. I don't know why. Yes, I do know. The girl's body was scarred from that damned Torquernada girdle; I wanted to insult this flesh peddler.
He flinched and looked as if he were giving birth to broken beer bottles. "You jest with me. Eleven thousand blessings, and they are yours-though I won't make expenses!"
"Fifteen hundred," I answered. I had money I couldn't spend elsewhere and told myself I could afford to manumit them rather than let that girl be bound into that damned atrocity again.
He moaned. "If they were mine, I would give them to you. I love these cute darlings like my own children and could ask for them, nothing better than a kind and gentle master learned in science who appreciates the wonders that have gone into their making. But the Bishop would hang me and have me cut down alive to be dragged to death by my tool. Ten thousand and take all proofs and exhibits. I'll suffer a loss for their sakes-and because I admire you so much."
I got up to forty-five hundred and he got down to seven thousand and there we stuck, as I had to hold out cash for last-minute squeeze, whereas it felt to me that he was close to the point where he really could not sell without risking the Bishop's wrath. If there was a bishop- He turned away in a fashion that says that a dicker is over and he is through flattering you, and told the girl sharply to step back into her steel harness.
I got out my purse. Minerva, you understand money; you handle the government's finances. But possibly you don't know that cash money affects some people the way catnip does Diablo. I counted out forty-five hundred blessings in big red-and-gold bills under that scoundrel's nose-and stopped. He was sweating and swallowing his Adam's apple but managed to shake his head a tenth of an inch.
So I counted more bills, very slowly, and reached five thousand-then started briskly to pick them up.
He stopped me-and I found that I had bought the only slaves I have ever owned.
He relaxed then, in a resigned way, but wanted lagniappe for the exhibits. I didn't care one way or another but offered two hundred and fifty for the pix and tapes, take it or leave it. He took it and again started to put the girl back into her harness.
I stopped him and said, "Show me how that works," I knew how-a cylinder-type ten-letter combination lock you could set to a new combination each time you used it. Set the combination, slide the ends of the steel strap that went around her waist through the ends of the barrel, spin the alphabet disks of the cylinder, then it stays locked until you reset whatever ten-letter combo you picked. An expensive lock and good steel in the girdle-alloy a hacksaw couldn't touch. This was another thing that made his story convincing, as, while there was a market for virgins on that weird globe, a trained odalisque fetched about the same, and this girl wasn't being reserved for harem stock either way. So an expensive custom-made chastity belt had to have some other reason.
With our backs to the slaves he showed me the combination: E,S,T,R,E,L,L,I,T,A-and was smug about how clever he was to pick a combination he couldn't forget. So I fumbled on purpose, then pretended to catch on, and opened it. He was about to put it on the kid again and send us on our way. I said, "Wait a moment. I want to be sure I can work it in place. You step into it and let me get you out of it."
He didn't want to. So I got snotty and said he was trying to cheat me-put me in a position where I would have to send for him and pay through the nose to get my property unlocked. I demanded my money back and started to tear up the bill of sale. He gave in and stepped into the contrivance.
He could squeeze into it although the ends of the steel belt barely met; he was bigger around the waist than the girl was. I said, "Now spell that combination for me"-and leaned over the lock. As he spelled- "ESTRELLITA," what I set was "HORSETHIEF~" then jammed the ends together as hard as possible and spun the disks.
"Good," I said. "It works. Now spell it again."
He did so and I carefully spelled "ESTRELLITA." It stayed locked. I suggested that he had had me spell it with one i and two t's the first time. That didn't work either.
He dug up a mirror and tried it himself. No go. I said it might be jammed, so suck up your gut and we'll shake it. By now he was sweating.
Finally I said, "Tell you what, goodman-I'll give you this belt. I'd rather trust a padlock anyhow. So go to a locksmith-no, you won't want to wear this outside; just tell me where to find one and I'll send him here, and pay him myself. Fair enough? I can't hang around; I've got a dinner engagement at the Beulahland. Where are their clothes? Faithful, gather up this junk and fetch the kids." So I left him still blatting about telling the locksmith to hurry.
As we left his tent, a taxicab was cruising by. I had Faithful hail it and we all piled in. I didn't bother with a locksmith; I had the driver head for the skyport, then stopped on the way at a slopchest and bought the kids proper clothes, a clout for him and sort of Balinese sarong for her-uh, that's much like the dress Hamadryad wore yesterday. I think those were the first real clothes the youngsters had ever had. I couldn't get shoes on them; I settled for sanáals-then had to drag Estrellita away from a mirror; she was admiring herself and preening. I threw away those auction robes. I shoved the kids into the taxi and said to Faithfuclass="underline" "See that alley? If I turn my back and you run down it, I won't be able to chase you; I've got to keep an eye on these two."
Minerva, I ran into something I'll never understand: the slave mentality. Faithful didn't get my meaning-and when I spelled it out, he was aghast. Hadn't he given good service? Did I want him to starve? I gave up. We dropped him at the Rent-a-Servant, and got my deposit back-tipping him for good service-and my slaves and I rode on out to the skyport.
Turned out I needed that deposit and almost every blessing I had left-had to pay squeeze at outgoing customs to get the kids aboard my ship, even though the bill of sale was in order.
But I got 'em aboard; I immediately had them kneel, put my hands on their heads and manumitted them. They did not seem to believe it, so I explained. "Look, you're free now. Free, get me? No longer slaves. I'll sign your manumission papers and you can go to the diocese office and get them registered. Or you can have dinner here and sleep aboard, and I'll give you what blessings I can just before my ship lifts tomorrow. Or, if you want to, you can stay aboard and go to Valhalla, a nice planet though chillier than this one-but where there is no such thing as slavery."