She was quite right, as Stephanie knew perfectly well—given that she and Haruka were enjoying a sexual relationship themselves at the moment. The customs and traditions of Beowulf's military, especially its elite commando units, would have made the officers of any other military force turn pale. And, in fact, probably only people raised in Beowulf's unusually relaxed mores could have handled it without disciplinary problems. For Beowulfers, sex was a perfectly natural human activity, no more remarkable in itself than eating. The members of a military unit shared meals, after all, not to mention any number of collective forms of entertainment like playing chess or cards. So why shouldn't they share the pleasure of sexual activity also?
Their relaxed habits on the matter worked quite well, especially given the long missions which characterized the teams of the Biological Survey Corps. It did so because the Corps' teams also followed the Beowulfan custom of making a clear and sharp distinction between sex and marriage. Beowulfan couples who decided to marry— technically, form a civil union; marriage as such was a strictly religious affair under the Beowulfan legal code—quite often chose, at least for a time, to maintain monogamous sexual relations.
Neither Hugh nor Marti answered Stephanie's question, which was rhetorical anyway. She hadn't expected an answer. Not surprisingly, one of Beowulf's most ingrained customs was
There had not, however, been any spike-heeled boots involved. Beowulfan customs wouldn't have found that abhorrent, assuming both parties were consenting adults. It just so happened that both Hugh Arai and Marti Garner had conventional tastes, when it came to sex. Conventional, at least, in their own terms. Plenty of other cultures would have been aghast at what passed for 'normal sex' on Beowulf.
The com unit came alive and the same man's face appeared. 'Yeah, okay. We can't—well, we figure you're okay. What do you got for us?'
'The cargo's not too big. Eighty-five units, all certified. Mostly heavy labor units.'
'Pleasure units?'
'Just two, this trip.'
'Male or female?'
'Both female.'
The heavy face broke into its first smile. 'Well, good. We can use 'em.'
Henson rolled her eyes. 'Oh, great. I've got to put on the act again.'
'I'll pass the word to June,' said Haruka.
Stephanie Henson and June Mattes were the two female members of the team who usually served as would-be pleasure slaves on these operations. Both of them, especially Mattes, had the sort of flamboyantly female physiological characteristics that suited the roles. For the same reason, Kevin Wilson and Frank Gillich played the roles when males were needed. The tactic worked because slavers receiving the cargo were almost invariably gripped by their own lusts, so they rarely thought to check the cargo's certifications until it was too late. A very attractive appearance was usually all that was needed.
The same was not true, on the other hand, for the team member who always played the role of a heavy labor unit. The moment any slaver's eyes caught sight of Hugh Arai, they wanted to see his tongue sticking out. The man was huge and so muscular he looked downright misshapen. There was no way they were going to let him near them, no matter how many chains he was laden with, until they saw the Manpower genetic marker. Even from a bit of a distance, that marker was effectively impossible to disguise or mimic.
Arai stretched. The small command deck seemed to get even smaller. He smiled at his comrades and, lazily, stuck out his tongue.
There was no need to fake a Manpower genetic marker. It was right there on the top of his tongue, as it had been since he came out of the Manpower process that substituted for birth.
'F' indicated the heavy labor line. '23' was the particular type, which was one designed for extremely heavy labor. 'xb' instead of the usual 'b' or 'd' for a male slave indicated an experimental variety—in this case a genetic manipulation aimed to produce unusual dexterity along with enormous strength. '74421' indicated the batch, and '4/5' noted that Hugh had been the fourth of five male babies 'born' at the same time.
'Which outfit do you want to wear this time, darling?' Marti asked. 'Rags soiled, rags torn, or rags stained by unknown but almost certainly awful fluids?'
'Go with the fluids,' said Haruka. He waved at the screen. They had almost arrived at the docking bay. Only a portion of Parmley Station could be seen any longer in the screen. That portion, not surprisingly, looked old and worn down. But it also looked just plain dirty, which wasn't at all common for vacuum conditions. That was probably a side effect of the nearby moon's plasma torus. 'The damn thing looks like it needs a scrubbing.'
The com unit squawked again. The squawk was a completely artificial effect, the product of Beowulfan electronic ingenuity. It would resonate back to the slaver's unit and make a suitably run-down impression.
'Use Dock 5.'
'Right,' said Garner. 'Dock 5 it is.' She switched off the com.
'And a scrubbing it's about to get,' said Henson. 'Fluids included.'
Arai nodded. 'The human body holds five to six liters of blood. Even slavers, who have no hearts.'
Chapter Ten
Brice Miller worked the brakes, easing the cab to a gentle stop. The brakes were an antique design, relying on hydraulic principles, but they worked well enough. Brice was rather fond of them, in fact. Like much of the station's jury-rigged equipment, it took some actual skill to make it work.
There was a small group waiting for him at the terminus. He waved at his cousins James Lewis and Ed Hartman and tried not to scowl openly at the third and fourth members of the party.
Those two were Michael Alsobrook and Sarah Armstrong. They were in their twenties, not teenagers like James and Ed and Brice himself.
'Stop glaring at us,' Sarah said. 'You know the drill—and it's Ganny's drill anyway, not ours.'
' 'Course, I agree with her,' added Alsobrook. 'The last thing we need in a delicate situation is hormones running loose with pulse rifles.'
'Easy for you guys to be so blasé about it,' James said. Like Brice himself, he was looking enviously at the pulse rifles cradled by Alsobrook and Armstrong.
'Yeah,' chimed in Ed. 'We're the ones gotta crawl around in air ducts without so much as a pocket knife for self-defense.'
'Self-defense against what?' said Michael, his voice edged with sarcasm. 'Rats?'
A bit defensively, Brice said, 'Well, there
Sarah looked like she was about to yawn. 'Of course there are. Weren't you paying attention to your biology tutor? Rats and cockroaches—humanity's inescapable companions in the Diaspora. By now, the relationship is practically commensal.'
'For them, maybe,' said Hartman.
In truth, the occasional rats he'd encountered in the vents had scurried away as soon as they caught sight of Brice. He imagined the rodents might pose a danger if someone was weak and incapacitated—but, in that case, what difference would it make if the person had a weapon or didn't? His real gripe was just that—that—
Teenage male hormones were practically shrieking that he needed a weapon! When he sallied forth against the foe. Dammit.
Alas, older if not wiser heads prevailed. Sarah reached into the small bag she had slung over a shoulder and began pulling out the com units. The units themselves were small enough she could have fitted all three into her hand, but the wire and clip they each came with made them quite a bit bulkier if not much heavier.
