The moon, as he thought of it, was inhabited by a superior race of beings called the Selenes. The Gnomen called them orbfolk and were afraid of them. Blade, with the little information he could gather, guessed that the Selenes had warred with the Morphi and the Selenes had won. Somehow they had managed to cut off the power and put the Morphi into a death-like trance. How or why or when, he had no idea. Sart did not know, or would not tell. Blade didn't think that his slave was lying or being devious; the Gnomen were simply a low form of human animal that lived entirely for the present.
Blade moved restlessly on the bed. He heard Sart push through the door hanging and say something to the line of women waiting outside. Blade grinned wryly at the thought of the strange queue-a line a block long of women waiting, hoping to be made pregnant by a strange man.
For a moment, furious impatience raged in Blade. He wanted to be up and out and about, doing and discovering, finding out things, exploiting this Dimension X for England, and yet here he was at stud and no better than any other prisoner-no better off than Sart, really. In fact he didn't have the freedom of Sart, who could come and go as he pleased. Let Blade poke his head out of the apartment and there were fifty men armed with the bars.
Only his sense of humor saved Blade, or had up to now. He finally laughed at himself and took his bath, humming a snatch of remembered tune… I'll never love again… had his lunch and dressed in some of the plastic clothes looted from above. He was stalling as long as he could. He was tired. So far that day he had serviced ten women-he ticked them off on a slate-and he did not really feel up to more female flesh at the moment. If only Jantor or Sybelline would send for him, take some notice of his existence. They ruled, so they must be of good intelligence, and from them he might gain some answers. At least escape from the deadly boredom that pressed in on him like a black cloud. Blade let a curse escape him. All he did-night and day, day and night-was service women. When he thought of all the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth in despair that he had done back in HD, he could not believe that he was the same man.
He had made Sart bathe and comb out his beard. The man had filled the apartment with his stink. Now Sart took the food tray away and said, «It is time, master. They are growing impatient.»
Blade scowled at him. «Let them be impatient. So am I, to no purpose. I have an idea, Sart. Why not you instead of me? I'm sure you'll enjoy it. I need a rest.»
Sart gave him a shocked look. «That is forbidden, master. Only you are to have the women.»
«Who would know the difference?»
Sart pointed at Blade and then at his own squat and powerful body covered with hair. «The women, of course. They would tell. Jantor and Sybelline would hear. They would kill you and send me to the pits. No, master, you must keep on. Shall I send the next one in now?»
Blade sighed and began to undress again. «Yes, I suppose so. Send her in.»
And it was with the next woman that his boredom and futility began to vanish. He recognized her immediately. It was the young and shapely girl who had clawed him, and who later had been sent to fetch Jantor and Sybelline. And there was something more. This was the third or fourth time she had been to him for copulation. Blade, who was in a foul mood, decided to have some fun with her at least. Why did she keep returning to his bed, over and over again?
When the girl entered and walked toward the bed Blade stopped her. He beckoned. «Come here, girl. How are you called?»
She did not answer. She stood staring at the floor. She wore only the denim skirt, and she was slim and small waisted, with long, well-formed legs.
Blade roughened his voice. «I asked you a question. What is your name?»
She did not speak. Blade studied her. Her breasts were large and high thrusting, with a great deal of point. She was dirty and she smelled a bit, as they all did; her long dark hair was a tangle of medusa snarls.
«Look at me,» said Blade.
Slowly she raised her head. Her eyes, of Gnomen deep brown, had a tint of red in them. She met Blade's gaze for a moment, then lowered her eyes once more, but not before he had seen an intelligence, a comprehension, that none of the other women had displayed.
By now Blade was both interested and irritated. It also occurred to him that the more time he spent with this one, the more rest he would get. He badly needed it. She was the most beautiful of the lot, but he felt no sexual craving. He badly needed a respite.
He stalked to her, seized her by the hair, none too gently, and pulled her head back. He put his face close to hers and growled. «Tell me your name, girl!»
She was trembling. Fear moved in her eyes, fear and something else. Later, remembering, Blade was to recall that she looked at him as a grateful and obedient dog looks at its master.
«Norn,» she gasped. «I am called Norn.» Her voice was high-pitched, quavery with fear, yet not unpleasant.
Blade released her. He smiled. «So you do have a tongue — and a name. Then tell me, Norn, why do you keep coming back?»
The brown eyes widened, then narrowed, then veiled. She shook her head. «I do not understand, master. I do not come back. This is my first time.»
Blade laughed. «You are a little liar, Norn. This is the third, maybe the fourth, time that you've come to me.»
Norn shook her head. «No.»
«Yes, and you do not leave here until you tell the truth and explain why. Sart?»
«Yes, master?» Sart stepped into the room, glancing nervously from Blade to the girl.
Blade kept his eyes on the girl, who once again was staring at the floor.
«Fetch water, Sart, and the cloths and brushes. Hurry up. I am curious about this one. I want to see what she really looks like.»
Sart hesitated. Plainly he did not like this development. «But master, there are so many waiting. The line grows longer all the time. Is it wise to waste time with this one? I do not think that Jantor-«
Blade made an extremely nasty remark about Jantor, and Sart hurried to do as he was told. The girl broke suddenly for the draped entrance. Blade was on her in an instant. She fought him for a moment, kicking and biting and scratching, then suddenly went limp in his arms. She pressed against him and laid her head on his huge chest. Blade, with a sinking feeling, recognized submission.
The girl whispered up to him. «I love.»
That, he thought coldly, is all I need. Yet he did not push her from him. She might be useful and there was something about her as yet unexplained. Meantime, so long as he dallied with her, he would not have to face the impatient queue waiting for him outside. Sart came back with a large jar of water, cloths, coarse brushes and a box of fine white sand. Gnomen did not understand the use of soap. This puzzled Blade, for there was certainly plenty of it in the city above the sewers.
«Hold her,» Blade commanded. «We'll just have a little scrub-down and see what's under the dirt.»
But Norn would not let Sart touch her. She spat at him and clawed at his eyes. She turned to Blade. «You. I love you.»
Direct little creature, he thought, with dismay. But he was in it now; might as well finish up. He thought again of the long line of females outside and grimaced. The longer it took the better.
She took off her little denim mini and stood naked before him. Blade began his task, working as gently as possible with the water and sand.
Norn stood patiently as he scrubbed her. When he finished she emerged glowing and lovely, much younger than he would have guessed. Clean and shining, staring at him with dog-like devotion, she hardly looked fourteen, an extremely well-developed fourteen. As he rather tenderly dried her breasts, he convinced himself that this was no child.