The few days turned into twenty. By the end of the twenty, Fernwold and I were closer than friends. On the twenty-first day, I was sent away, to spend the journey time wondering who it was I had thought I loved, back on Earth, and why it was I thought I had loved him. Strangely enough, though I grieved to lose Ferni, I had gained a certain peace of mind. For Margaret, I had probably decided badly, but for M’urgi, the decision about Bryan had been the right one.
I Am Mar-agern/on Fajnard
When I arrived on Fajnard, in the Mercan Combine, I was still well shy of my twenty-third birthday. On arrival, our group of bondservants were chained together, though lightly, and escorted on foot across the port, which swarmed with races I had read of or heard about, and as many more I had never known existed. Our destination was a warehouse where a group of Bondsfolk Relief workers fed us and gave us bondservant clothing: trousers, shirts, long vests with pockets, a light jacket with pockets, a heavy, waterproof jacket with pockets, and a wide-brimmed waterproof hat, plus some softer material from which to make our own underwear.
Prior to our being sold, we were examined by two human doctors from Medecines Sans Limites who explained that they had volunteered to work on Mercan planets in order to care for those in bondage. Their existence in this far-off place brought Bryan vividly to my mind. Seeing my distress, the doctor asked me if I was injured or ill, I blurted out Bryan’s name, and what had happened, while the doctor regarded me, unmoved.
“Though I can understand your reluctance, from my point of view, you were a fool,” he said calmly. “None of us want to start a life from a position of indebtedness, even though everyone alive profits from the past. You’re here now, however, and if you’re to have any kind of life after you leave here, you must forget the past. Regret and nostalgia will result in depression, which is fatal on this planet. Pay attention to what I’m about to say: The most important rule is to repress how you feel about things and be supremely alert to what is happening around you. How you feel, what you think isn’t important. What you do, how you act, is important! Don’t act or speak until you have some inkling of what the result will be.
“I’m picking the first part of your own name, Mar, and I’m adding the suffix ‘agern’ to it. On Fajnard, long names are indicative of aristocracy or nobility. Bondsfolk are allowed the shortest possible names, and the suffix ‘agern’ means ‘slave.’ Your tag says Mar-agern! That’s your label! Repeat it over and over to yourself, keep it in mind so you can be quick when some Frossian utters it. When a Frossian yells ‘agern,’ it means whatever bondsfolk are closest, so be alert for that, too.
“Sleep whenever you can, wherever you can. Try to stay as clean as possible. The purchase contract specifies bathing facilities, but that doesn’t mean your buyers will have them, or that they’ll be sanitary, or that they won’t be frozen in winter. That means you sometimes use your drinking water to wash with, or the water that’s used to water stock, usually umoxen. Since they produce the finest wool among the known worlds, the Frossians are careful of them, and their water is probably kept clean. If you have any difficulty staying clean, cut your hair off, all of it, everywhere on your body, as that will reduce infestation.
“Frossians are a three-sex race. All the queens are on one planet, elsewhere. Never ask where. That question can get you killed. There are a few hundred breeding males on Fajnard, the workers and soldiers are neuters, and they’re the ones who’ll be ordering you around. They’re touchy, easy to anger, preoccupied with their own status in their own particular work crew. Anything you do wrong reflects on them, so don’t do anything wrong.
“Eat sparingly and save the least perishable of what you’re given in a pocket. If you don’t have a pocket, use the materials we gave you to contrive one. You may be given three meals today and only one or none tomorrow. If you feel just slightly unwell, don’t let it show. Even if you feel quite sick but can put on appearance of working, do so. This marks you as a noncomplainer and builds a store of tolerance among the overseers. Then, if you think you’re dying, kick up a real fuss, and if you’re loud enough, they’ll probably send for one of us, particularly before they’ve had their value out of you, that is, during the first ten to twelve years you’re here.”
“They send for one of you?”
“There are several MSL doctors here, male and female, and we’ve trained some helpers who’ve worked out their bondage. The Frossians tolerate us because they get more work out of healthy servants. We’re certifying that you’re healthy to start with. If you’re careful, you may stay that way.”
That was my last earth-human contact. On the following day, our shipload of émigrés was sold. I had dreaded the poking and prying that I expected to accompany this
