The cook laughed, a dry bark. "I'm eighty-eight years old, girl. At my age you don't have many years left before decline, and you think a bit, some of us, most of us, of how your points will balance after death; what penalties and penances might await you. Makes it easier to take the bull by the horns. In midmorning the Dynast called me to her. I told her what you'd looked like, and what my son had said.

"She didn't say a thing, but I saw her jaw tighten. Later her secretary stopped to tell me not to worry about anything Idri might want to do." Again she snorted. "As if I would. Sarkia told her she'd wanted you punished, not killed. And ordered her to latrine detail for a week; she'll love that, high and mighty as she sees herself.

"Then she had your sergeant in. Not that she raked him over the coals like I did; he's just a Tiger, the way she designed him. But she set him straight. You'll find things better when you go back."

The cook left then. And of all she'd said, the words that stuck in Varia's mind were four: "When you go back." She'd have to go back to that place.

8: A Plan Enacted

When Varia left the infirmary at the end of the third day, she was in better condition physically than she'd expected to be. She'd been enough years on Farside that she'd come to judge healing by the standards there. In the Cloister, what they lacked in science, they more than made up for with healing touches, and formulas spoken instead of manufactured.

She left wearing more than her shift, too. The healer had found a pair of work breeches for her, and mittens, and ill-fitting boots, all shabby enough to fit her punishment status, but far better than only the shift, which now became her shirt.

At the barracks, the sergeant had already given orders orally, rules of conduct toward their woman. The first was short term: she was not to be bothered that night. The second was, she was not to be struck or pinched or otherwise hurt. The third, she was not to be sodomized again, or anything done to her that could not result in pregnancy. Further, no man was to take her more than once every other night; a schedule would be posted. That still means four each evening, she told herself, and felt desolation wash through her again. The best she could do was remind herself it wouldn't start for another twenty-four hours.

That was the first night she thought of escape. She didn't let her mind dwell on it though; the difficulties would seem insuperable. Something she did look at was the season. She'd have no chance at all, fleeing through the wilderness, before spring came. Late spring. The mental power to warm herself was limited by her level of biological energy. On a winter night it would protect her for only a few hours, leaving her famished. It worked best when the temperature stress was moderate.

Till then she'd survive, she told herself, grow strong, and hopefully come through this without getting pregnant. Given the Tigers' low fertility, she could be optimistic.

The next morning she built and lit the kitchen fires, split a pile of wood, then during breakfast helped the adolescent scullery girls who washed the breakfast dishes, scrubbed pots and pans, and cleaned the kitchen. Before noon she ate lunch, again with the scullery girls, and went "home" for the rest of the day, sleeping most of it. Home to a room kept for breeding, its windows barred against the rare maverick like herself who might think of escape.

Supper too she ate in the scullery; ate lightly. Then, half brave, half terrified, returned to the Tiger barracks and what awaited her there.

At seven that evening, the first on the day's breeding roster entered her room, finished and left in brief minutes. Then she washed herself and sat mentally frozen, waiting on her chair. The next appeared at seven-thirty, and the next at eight. None of the three spoke. Two of them, though not blatantly abusive, were surly and rough. As if she'd wronged them, she thought bitterly; as if they blamed her for the schedule. As if it were their right to enjoy a violent hours-long orgy every night, with her the sole victim.

At eight-thirty the sergeant walked in, closed the door behind him and paused. His angle of erection was about 135 degrees. "I'm sorry about that other night," he said.

She stared. Sorry? That helps some, I guess. After the last two it does. "Thank you for telling me," she said quietly. "I-I appreciate that."

He came to her then and stood over her. "I don't know your name," she said.

"Skortov."

But when he mounted her, he was nothing more than a machine, driving hard, finishing, and leaving without another word.

A few days later, another woman was assigned to the squad. Each evening two of the Tigers went to a breeding room in a women's barracks. This too was a punishment action, less severe than her own but still punishment, for the Sister would be receptive to impregnation only briefly each month, yet she'd be used each night, and now only two men an evening visited Varia. But the reduction in her breeding schedule was brief. With rare quickness the other Sister became pregnant, and again Varia took on four of them each evening. When they'd finished, a tide of desolation would sweep over her. To keep from weeping, she'd daydream herself to sleep, daydream of escape, and reunion with Curtis.

Only one of the Tigers, named Corgan, treated her with blatant cruelty, masturbating before his turn, then humping her long and violently, painfully. And when his stint as sentry coincided with her time to leave for the kitchen, just before 3 A.M., he'd stop her on the doorstep, groping and kissing her roughly before he'd let her pass. She didn't report it to Skortov; didn't want to cause dangerous resentments within the squad, resentments that inevitably would worsen things for her.

Once she'd asked Skortov why sentries were posted outside the barracks door. It was standard for Tiger barracks, he said. To Varia it was apparent that he'd never before wondered, and it seemed to her that something was lacking in the Tigers-this clone at least-lacking in either their genes or their training or both. They ought to wonder about anything as pointless as that.

Winter's occasional snows and ice storms ended, and spring flowers bloomed. In the nearby human community, oxen pulled plows through wet soil, followed by the plowmen, and by crows that feasted on the worms and grubs exposed. On the shrubs, buds swelled and broke. Her head was shaved again. Trees began to green, lilacs bloomed, and Varia began to plan how she'd equip herself and get over the palisade. Once outside she'd have to improvise, steal a horse or maybe just walk. Afoot she'd leave a harder trail to follow.

She didn't deceive herself that her prospects were good. Guards would be sent after her, perhaps even Tigers, and if she were caught… Thinking of that, she almost changed her mind. If she stayed, she told herself, surely she'd get pregnant before too much longer. Then she'd will sixlings, be moved out of the Tiger barracks and in with her clone. Sarkia would be pleased with her, perhaps let her work in the creche, or the ceramics shop.

It was that thought that renewed her resolve. She realized she didn't want to live with Liiset, who'd abandoned her. And especially she didn't want to please Sarkia. It was Sarkia who'd told Idri, "Do what you will with her." In effect, who'd caused that terrible night. She should have known.

Or had she? Did she use Idri to do her evil, the evil that Idri was so attracted to, then step forward to rescue the abused? Gaining the victim's gratitude and devotion, even adoration? The thought was like a blow to the stomach.