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Taken in the past few years, I daresay, from your age—"

    "How do you know my—"

    He grinned. He had a nice grin, warm and friendly. "Teeth, among other things. General development." At this point Sass realized that she had on something clean and soft, a single garment that was certainly not the patched tunic and pants she'd worn on the other ship. "Now—do you remember where you came from?"

    "My . . . my home?" When he nodded, she said, "Myriad." At his blank look, she gave the standard designation she'd been taught in school, so long ago. He nodded again, and she went on to tell him what had happened to the colony.

    "And then?" She told of the original transport, the training she'd received as a slave, and then her work on the ship. He sighed. "I suppose you haven't the faintest idea where that depot planet is, do you?"

    "No. I—" Her eyes fixed suddenly on the insignia he wore on his left breast. It meant something. It meant . . . Abe's face came to her suddenly, very earnest, speaking swiftly and in an odd broken rhythm, something she had never quite remembered, but didn't worry about because someday— And now was someday, and she found herself reciting whatever he had said, just as quickly and accurately. The man stared at her.

    "You—! You're too young; you couldn't—!" But now that it was back out, she knew . . . knew what knowledge Abe had planted in her (and in how many others, she suddenly wondered, who had been sold away?), hoping that someday, somehow she might catch sight of that insignia (and how had he kept his, hidden it from his owners?) and have the memory wakened. She knew where that planet was, and the FTL course, and the codewords that would get a Fleet vessel past the outer sentinel satellites . . . all the tidbits of knowledge that Abe had gleaned in years of slavery, while he pretended obedience.

    Her information set off a whirlwind of activity. She herself was bundled into a litter and carried along spotless gleaming corridors, to be set down at last, with utmost gentleness, in a cabin bunk. A luxurious cabin, its tile floor gentled with a brilliant geometric carpet, several comfortable-looking chairs grouped around a low round table. She heard bells in the distance, the scurry of many feet . . . and then the door to the cabin closed, and she heard nothing but the faint hiss of air from the ventilators.

    In that silence, she fell asleep again, to be wakened by a gentle cough. This time, the white uniform was decorated with gold stripes on the sleeves, straight ones that went all the way around. Rings , she thought vaguely. Four of them. And six little somethings on the shoulders, little silvery blobs. "Stars are tops," Abe had said, "Stars are admirals. But anything on the shoulders means officer."

    "The Medical Officer says you're well enough," said the person with all that gold and silver. "Can you tell me more about what you remember?" He was tall, thin, gray-haired, and Sass might have been frightened into silence if he hadn't smiled at her, a fatherly sort of smile.

    She nodded, and repeated it all again, this time in a more normal tone.

    "And who told you this?" he asked.

    "Abe. He . . . he was Fleet, he said."

    "He must be." The man nodded. "Well, now. The question is, what do we do with you?"

    "This—this is a Fleet ship, isn't it?"

    The man nodded again. "The Baghir , a heavy cruiser. Let me brief you a little. The ship you were on—know anything about it?" Sass shook her head. "No—they just stuck you in the pilothouse, I'll bet, and put you to work. Well, it was an independent cargo carrier. Doubles as a slave ship some runs; this time it had maybe twenty young, prime tech-trained slaves and a load of entertainment cubes—if you call that kind of thing entertainment." He didn't explain further, and Sass didn't ask.

    "We'd heard a shipment might be coming into a neighboring system, so we had a fluxnet in place. You don't need to know how that