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and while
he talked he rubbed it on the sand: the end was moist and red and some
long hairs were stuck in it.
    "I took a good look around this camp, and there's very little more
than you can see from here. Just this crowd of broken down types, a
few bundles rolled in hide, and some of them are carrying skin water
bottles. They have a simple me-stronger pecking order so I pecked a
bit and we can drink. Food comes next."
    "Who are they? What are we doing?" Mikah asked, mumbling a little,
obviously still suffering the after-effects of the blow. Jason looked
at the contused skull, and decided not to touch it. The wound had bled
freely and clotted. Washing it off with the highly dubious water would
accomplish little and might add infection to their other troubles.
    "I'm only sure of one thing," Jason said. "They're slaves. I don't
know why they are here, what they are doing or where they are going,
but their status is painfully clear—ours, too. Old Nasty up there on
the hill is the boss. The rest of us are slaves."
    "Slaves!" Mikah snorted, the word penetrating through the pain in his
head. "It is abominable. The slaves must be freed."
    "No lectures please, and try to be realistic—even if it hurts. There
are only two slaves that need freeing here, you and I. These people
seem nicely adjusted to the
status quo
and I see no reason to change
it. I'm not starting any abolitionist campaigns until I can see my way
clearly out of this mess, and I probably won't start any then either.
This planet has been going on a long time without me, and will
probably keep rolling along once I'm gone."
    "Coward! You must fight for the Truth and the Truth will make you
free."
    "I can hear those capital letters again," Jason groaned. "The only
thing right now that is going to make me free is me. Which may be bad
poetry, but is still the truth. The situation here is rough but not
unbeatable—so listen and learn. The boss, his name is Ch'aka in case
you care, seems to have gone off on a hunt of some kind. He's not far
away and will be back soon, so I'll try and give you the entire setup
quickly.
    "I thought I recognized the language, and I was right. It's a corrupt
form of Esperanto, the language all the Terido worlds speak. This
altered language plus the fact that these people live about one step
above the stone-age culture is pretty sure evidence that they are cut
off from any contact with the rest of the galaxy, though I hope not.
There may be a trading base somewhere on the planet, and if there is
we'll find it later. We have enough other things to worry about right
now, but at least we can speak the language. These people have
contracted and lost a lot of sounds and even introduced a glottal
stop, something that
no
language needs, but with a little effort the
meaning can still be made out."
    "I do not speak Esperanto."
    "Then learn it. It's easy enough even in this jumbled form. And shut
up and listen. These locals are born and bred slaves and it is all
they know. There is a little squabbling in the ranks with the bigger
ones pushing the work on the weak ones when Ch'aka isn't looking, but
I have that situation well in hand. Ch'aka is our big problem, and we
have to find out a lot more things before we can tackle him. He is
boss, fighter, father, provider and destiny for this mob, and he seems
to know his job. So try to be a good slave for a while...."
    "Slave! I?" Mikah arched his back and tried to rise. Jason pushed him
back to the ground—harder than was necessary.
    "Yes, you—and me, too. That is the only way we are going to survive
in this arrangement. Do what everyone else does, obey orders, and you
stand a good chance of staying alive until we can find a way out of
this tangle."
*
    Mikah's answer was drowned out in a roar from the dunes as Ch'aka
returned. The slaves climbed quickly to their feet, grabbing up their
bundles, and began to form a single widespaced line. Jason helped
Mikah to stand and wrap strips of skin around his feet