"It was merely an observation," I said. The tiny hairs on the back of a girl's neck are very exciting.
"There are various sorts of collars," she said. "Some have a ring on the back, to take the lock. I think they did not realize, in the beginning, how many girls they would bring here. Some of the chains have links wide enough to simply use the chain itself, looped and locked about the girl's throat."
"This is an adapted slave collar," I said, "though it is a size too large for you."
"That is to accommodate the lock tongue, when it is shut into the lock," she said.
"There are two tiny yellow bands on your collar," I said.
"That is because I am a "yellow girl," " she said.
"There are also two yellow bands on the lock," I said.
"Our collars are color coded to the locks and chains," she said.
"And you are a "yellow girl," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"Belinda," she said, "if it pleases master."
"It is a lovely name," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she said. I would not beat her for not having a pleasing name.
"What other sorts of girls are there here?" I asked.
"There are five color-coded collars," she said, "red, orange, yellow, green and blue. Each color permits a girl a different amount of freedom in the tracks."
"Are you kept constantly on these chains?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said. "We wear them only when sent on errands."
"And when you are not on errands?" I asked.
"We are kept safely under lock and key," she said.
"Are all girls in coded collars?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said, "the true beauties are kept in steel pleasure rooms, for the sport of the men."
"Explain to me the color system," I said.
"Blue is most limited," she said. "Green may go where blue may go, and further. I am a yellow. I may go where blue and green may go, but, too, I have access to areas beyond theirs. I may not go as far as the orange collar permits. Where I am stopped, they may continue. The maximum amount of freedom is enjoyed by a girl who wears a collar with two red bands."
She looked at me, over her shoulder.
"But surely Master knows these things," she said.
I turned her about, facing me, and threw her back against the steel wall.
"Forgive me, Master," she said.
"Place the palms of your hands back, against the wall," I said.
She did so.
"You are not of the complex." she said, suddenly. "You are an intruder," she whispered.
With the barrel of the tubular weapon I tore open the loose knot holding the pleasure silk together at her navel. It fell, parted, to either side. She winced, backed against the steel wall. The barrel of the riflelike contrivance, deep in her belly, held her in place.
"Do not kill me, Master," she said. "I am only a slave."
"Slaves sometimes speak much," — I told her.
"I will not speak," she said.
"Kneel," I said.
She did so.
"I will not speak," she said. "I promise I will not speak, Master!"
"You are very beautiful, Belinda," I told her. I held the barrel of the gun at her face.
"I will not speak," she whispered. "I will not betray you."
"Take the barrel of the gun in your mouth," I told her, She did so, timidly.
"You know what this can do to you, do you not?" I asked, She nodded, kneeling, terrified.
"You are not going to speak, are you?" I asked.
She made tiny, terrified, negative movements of her head. Her mouth was very beautiful about the steel. She had not been given permission to release it.
"Yes, very beautiful," I said.
With the barrel of the weapon I guided her downward, to her side, and then lay the weapon on the plates. Her head was turned to the side. She did not dare to release the weapon. I then began to caress her. To my amazement, almost immediately, she began to respond helplessly, spasmodically. "What a slave you are," I chided. She moaned, and wept and whimpered, but could not speak. When I stood up, and took the weapon from her mouth, she looked at me, startled; she half rose from the floor, turning on her left thigh, her right leg drawn up, the palms of her hands on the floor, her lovely body deeply mottled, a terrain of crimson, with the intense capillary activity which I had induced in her. "Your slave," she said.
I turned about. I did not think she would speak.
I continued on down the halls. Some more men passed me, and two girls. I checked the collars on the girls. One was blue, and one was yellow.
I moved swiftly, and yet the complex was a labyrinth. I did not think any of the humans in the complex would be likely to know the location of the device for which I sought. And I did not think any Kur would reveal it.
I sped rapidly down the hall.
A siren began to whine. It was very loud in the steel corridor.
I slowed my pace to pass a fellow in the brown and black tunic of the personnel of the complex.
"There is an intruder above," I said loudly to him.
"No," he said. "A ventilation shaft grating was found blasted on the surface. There is reason to believe he may now be within the complex."
"Of course," I said, "the siren. It is an internal security alert."
"Keep a close watch," said the fellow.
"Be assured I shall," I said.
We hurried apart from one another. I kept my eyes on the overhead track system. Then I came to a branching in the corridor. The overhead track system, which I had hoped to follow to its termination, also branched at this point Further, I could see other branchings further away, down each of the corridors. The track system doubtless reached to the far corners, or almost to the far corners, of this level, and, descending and ascending, above stairwells, to various other levels, as well. The siren was loud, persistent, maddening. I cursed inwardly. Here and there in the corridors, and here, too, where I now stood, there was a surveillance lens mounted high in the ceiling, on a swivel. I saw it move, remotely controlled from somewhere, in a scanning pattern. The guard's garb which I wore had been, until now, apparently, suitable disguise. I started off down one of the corridors, intent not to appear indecisive or vacillating. I wished it to seem that I knew my way about. When I glanced back the lens was oriented in a different direction. It had not been trained on me. Two more men passed me in the hall. Each carried one of the dart-firing weapons.
I cursed inwardly. It could take a great deal of time to explore the remote areas of the complex. I did not know, first, where the most remote areas accessible to the overhead track lay or where the surveillance devices, which might be available to human beings, might not scan. The destructive device I sought, I was confident, would lie in an area beyond the reach of the overhead track system and, I conjectured, in an area not public to the surveillance system. I recalled that no such device had been revealed by the monitors in the private chamber of Zarendargar, Half-Ear, war general of the Kurii.
I recalled the girl I had left on the steel plates far behind me, the chain dangling down from the overhead track system to the collar on her neck.
She was a "yellow." I needed a "red."
I looked up at the track above me, angrily. At one of its terminations, doubtless the most remote, lay the area which I sought.
The siren stopped whining, and a voice, over a speaker system, in Gorean began to speak. "Secure all slaves," it said. "All personnel report to their stations." This message was repeated five times. Some men ran past me. There was then silence in the halls.
It was an intelligent arrangement. In times of danger Gorean slaves are often chained or confined that they may in no way effect the outcome of whatever action may ensue. They will helplessly await their eventual disposition at the hands of masters. That all personnel were to report to their stations would provide the leaders in the complex with an accounting of their forces and suddenly make the surveillance system of the complex effective. A lone figure would be easily identified as the intruder.