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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 of her 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 realized 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 someday—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