Back to the Archive.
Shazara Pel stalked the quarters of the Terran team, and glared as she found the kitchen cluttered with green-skinned slave girls. "What do you think you’re doing?" she demanded of them.
The young women looked up from their labours. "We are cooking dishes for our master and his chattels," one of them explained, as if surprised that the bird-warrioress couldn’t recognise the domestic task. "We wish to show our usefulness, so he will not cast us out."
"You should be seeking weapons to slaughter this Visionary who holds you captive, and proclaim your freedoms!" the Thonnagarian told him.
The girls looked horrified. "We would never do a thing like that!" they promised.
"Except maybe to that Slimy Slaver Lovetoad," one of them admitted honestly, and there was a general susurrus of agreement that maybe he might be the exception.
"You want to be slaves?" Shazara Pel objected. "Have you no honour?"
"Of course we do," they answered her. "That is why we do not wish to be… ownerless. Then we would be nothing, unprotected, without status or hope. A girl must have a master. That is the way of things. Despite how horrible it was to be sold offworld to that Slimy Slaver. Otherwise we are... disowned." The last word was spoken as a whisper.
Pel shook her head. "And this is what you want? A life of subordination and drudgery, chained to some man?"
One of the girls shook her head. "We… we just want to be owned by a nice master who will treat us kindly. Perhaps we could settle down? And some of us might gain favoured slave status by bearing our master strong sons."
Shazara Pel stared at them for a moment, then spun on her heels. "Excuse me. I really have to go find something to kill."
