almost nothing before I stopped, and then relieved myself as best I could. The amount of water the sink might dispense at one time was limited, so I washed as much as I could before returning to my seat. I had no clothing, no money, no bearings and nowhere to go except where Chlind was sending me. Yes, I often thought about asking him to leave me in the desert to die, but I didn't. Who knows whether that was a good or bad thing?
* * *
The papers handed to the ranking officer were forged—in my case anyway. He looked me over carefully, evaluating what Chlind had brought him with a critical eye. "What's this one good for?" The officer handed Chlind a skeptical frown.
"Cleaning or kitchen work, your choice," Seval, Chlind's partner offered the soldier a grin. "It says in the contract that two out of the twenty can be designated drudges."
"It doesn't say that they can be minuscule," the soldier laughed.
"But she's not difficult to look at," Chlind chimed in.
"No, but she's delicate business. This is the high desert. Don't you have any sense at all?"
"Must have left it in my other clothes," Seval agreed amiably.
I wanted to tell them I was right there, but then I was a slave. Granted, none of the other girls on the transport were chained or restrained in any way, but they'd probably gotten the desert speech, just as I had.
"Know your way around a kitchen?" The soldier turned to me then.
"Yes," I nodded. I could find my way around most any kitchen. I found myself more than grateful that everyone spoke Alliance common, even if it was accented and Mandil wasn't an Alliance world.
"Then we'll put you in the kitchen unless somebody gets interested. Doesn't matter how pretty you are, they'll want their women a little tougher and with more meat on their bones."
That sounded fine with me. I wondered what kind of men these were. The soldier was wide across the shoulders with a tanned, weathered face and hair that might have been a light brown, once. The intense light and heat of the desert had bleached it like muslin until it was nearly the same color as mine.
He and the other soldiers I saw moving about were all dressed in sand-colored uniforms. They matched the desert they stood upon and all had close-cropped hair. Seval had given me a leather string so I could braid my long hair and tie it to keep it off my neck. "The desert is hot and unforgiving," he'd told me while I tied the end of my braid.
"Clothing may be a problem, too," the soldier mused as I stood before him. "Never mind, we'll find something and somebody who can take it up. Next." I was led to the side with the other girls who'd been checked in, while the one behind me took my place.
* * *
"This is the kitchen," I was led inside an expansive space later by one of the oldest soldiers I'd seen at the post. The kitchen was equipped with a huge, solar-powered stove, a bank of cold-keepers, a pantry that could provide housing for a rather large family and three soldiers, all of whom were peeling root vegetables.
"How many here at the post?" I asked.
"Around three hundred, including the twenty of you that just arrived. But you won't cook for everybody—just the girls who came in with you," the old soldier replied. "Troops have their own cooks and kitchens, on the other side of the post. They have the big job. Now these here," he nodded toward the three men, "they're doing punishment time. So if you want anything edible, you'd best cook it yourself." The old soldier left me there, laughing as he walked away from me.
"When are the mealtimes?" I asked the youngest of the three men. Yes, I was intimidated, but I wanted the girls at the post to have the best meals I could make for them since they'd been sold just as I had.
"Late meal is served in two clicks," the youngest one replied. "We were told to peel roots so we're peeling roots."
"Then you may have done your job well enough already," I muttered. A mound of peeled, unwashed roots were piled on the steel table
* * *
The papers handed to the ranking officer were forged—in my case anyway. He looked me over carefully, evaluating what Chlind had brought him with a critical eye. "What's this one good for?" The officer handed Chlind a skeptical frown.
"Cleaning or kitchen work, your choice," Seval, Chlind's partner offered the soldier a grin. "It says in the contract that two out of the twenty can be designated drudges."
"It doesn't say that they can be minuscule," the soldier laughed.
"But she's not difficult to look at," Chlind chimed in.
"No, but she's delicate business. This is the high desert. Don't you have any sense at all?"
"Must have left it in my other clothes," Seval agreed amiably.
I wanted to tell them I was right there, but then I was a slave. Granted, none of the other girls on the transport were chained or restrained in any way, but they'd probably gotten the desert speech, just as I had.
"Know your way around a kitchen?" The soldier turned to me then.
"Yes," I nodded. I could find my way around most any kitchen. I found myself more than grateful that everyone spoke Alliance common, even if it was accented and Mandil wasn't an Alliance world.
"Then we'll put you in the kitchen unless somebody gets interested. Doesn't matter how pretty you are, they'll want their women a little tougher and with more meat on their bones."
That sounded fine with me. I wondered what kind of men these were. The soldier was wide across the shoulders with a tanned, weathered face and hair that might have been a light brown, once. The intense light and heat of the desert had bleached it like muslin until it was nearly the same color as mine.
He and the other soldiers I saw moving about were all dressed in sand-colored uniforms. They matched the desert they stood upon and all had close-cropped hair. Seval had given me a leather string so I could braid my long hair and tie it to keep it off my neck. "The desert is hot and unforgiving," he'd told me while I tied the end of my braid.
"Clothing may be a problem, too," the soldier mused as I stood before him. "Never mind, we'll find something and somebody who can take it up. Next." I was led to the side with the other girls who'd been checked in, while the one behind me took my place.
* * *
"This is the kitchen," I was led inside an expansive space later by one of the oldest soldiers I'd seen at the post. The kitchen was equipped with a huge, solar-powered stove, a bank of cold-keepers, a pantry that could provide housing for a rather large family and three soldiers, all of whom were peeling root vegetables.
"How many here at the post?" I asked.
"Around three hundred, including the twenty of you that just arrived. But you won't cook for everybody—just the girls who came in with you," the old soldier replied. "Troops have their own cooks and kitchens, on the other side of the post. They have the big job. Now these here," he nodded toward the three men, "they're doing punishment time. So if you want anything edible, you'd best cook it yourself." The old soldier left me there, laughing as he walked away from me.
"When are the mealtimes?" I asked the youngest of the three men. Yes, I was intimidated, but I wanted the girls at the post to have the best meals I could make for them since they'd been sold just as I had.
"Late meal is served in two clicks," the youngest one replied. "We were told to peel roots so we're peeling roots."
"Then you may have done your job well enough already," I muttered. A mound of peeled, unwashed roots were piled on the steel table
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