"We used some of that for your sleep," said Ida, "but don't take it on your own, I'm warning you: we don't want you to become one of those — " and she pointed to a couple of slaves who lifted their faces as the carrying chair passed to show blank, drugged eyes.

Around this house were big, deep verandahs, and on them lounged half a dozen men with long stick-like weapons, which they pointed at the two women.

"Don't worry," said Ida, "they are as useful as the sky skimmers — they don't work. Or when they do, they give the poor fools such a fright they throw them down and run."

They stepped out of the chair. The two porters took it to the side of the garden, sat down by it and at once went to sleep.

They went past the guards, and into a big room that was half dark because the windows were shaded, with the glare showing through the blinds like a hot stare. In the room, on cushions all around the walls, sat very large men, very fat, with billows and pillows of yellow flesh, wearing robes of all colours that were loose to hide all that fat. Never had

Mara even imagined such ugliness, such disgustingness, such beasts of men. The bulging flesh reminded her of the big lizards and dragons.

These were Hadrons. But Mara was thinking, I've seen them before — surely I have? And then she understood: the Rock People were very similar in build and shape, and their hair was the same, a mass of pale, frizzy stuff. Each of these beast-men leaned his elbows on a cushion, and they all stared and dreamed, and the air was sickly sweet. There were all kinds of pipes and tubes set out, and some Hadrons used these, but others were chewing black lumps, slowly, the way Mishka and Mishkita had chewed their food — when there was any.

Ida walked to the middle of the floor, leading Mara by the hand. No one seemed to notice them. Ida made a very deep curtsy, clapped her hands gently at chest level, and then curtsied again. Some of the befogged faces turned to look.

"Your lordships," said Ida, "I've brought the new girl."

At this all the eyes turned towards Mara. It was the words "the new girl." But, clearly, what they saw did not attract them, and besides, it was at that moment, when questions might have been asked, that four slaves carried in two great trays of food, piled high, and the smells of spices and fat were added to the cloying smells of the drugs.

All faces turned to the food, and Ida and Mara were forgotten, Ida curtsied again, but the Hadrons were reaching out with fat hands, covered with jewels, to the food, and the two women went out, unnoticed.

"We have to do that," said Ida. "It's the rule. They must have a good look at every new arrival in the Women's Houses. And now we'll not have to do it again, when your hair is grown and you look nice."

Back they went in the carrying chair to Ida's house. There she told Mara to rest for a while, since she shouldn't overdo things after her sleep treatment, and showed her a room that had only one bed in it, and left her.

When Mara got up, she found Ida in her usual place, fanning herself, apparently contemplating her pretty feet. She looked so unhappy, Mara thought, in that moment before Ida saw her and smiled.

"Sit down," said Ida, and Mara sat.

"And now," said Ida, "what did you see?"

Mara smiled at Ida through tears: to hear these words again, after such a long time, it was like hearing Daima's voice, or her parents' voices. "The Mahondis here are slaves of the Hadrons, but they decide everything and the Hadrons do not know it because they are lazy and stupid and take too much poppy."

"Very good," said Ida. "Well done. But don't you ever say it where they can hear you. But we don't decide everything. We can't stop them taking Mahondi girls as concubines. Or the boys, either." Then, because of Mara's surprised face, "You've never heard of what I'm saying?"

Mara shook her head. "Not men and men?" In her mind a warning was flaring: Dann, Dann, Dann. She thought, That's a danger for Dann, I am sure of it.

"Go on, Mara, what have you seen?"

"Chelops is emptying," she said. "And that is why you need so many slaves — there's no free labour to hire." And then, after a silence, while an old sadness dragged at her heart, "Chelops is coming to an end."

"The Hadrons say that Hadron will last for a thousand years," said Ida.

"That's silly."

"We have food growing out there. Our storehouses are full. We still have milk beasts. And we are still trading with the North: we sell them poppy and the ganja, they sell us food. It'll last our time."

Mara did not allow herself to say anything, and Ida went on, "So what have you seen?"

"There are hardly any children. I haven't seen any babies."

"The slaves in the Women's Houses are supposed to get pregnant, but for some reason it is hard for us to get pregnant."

"And the Hadrons?"

"There are very few Hadron children."

"Perhaps their stuff isn't any good?"

"And our stuff doesn't seem much good either."

Mara said, because it floated up into her mind from long ago, "Every woman has in her all the eggs she will ever have: she is born with them. And every man has in his stuff enough eggs to fertilise all of Chelops."

Ida's eyes widened, she sat up, she leaned forward. "Where did you hear that? Who told you?"

"Daima told me. She was from Rustam." "Was she a Memory?"

"What's that?"

"A person who has to keep in her mind everything the family knows."

"I think she was."

"There is a lot we have forgotten — a lot we've lost. What else did she say?"

"That there is a time in the month when it is safe to — to — to."

"For goodness' sake, Mara, speak out."

"I wish I could go to school," said Mara passionately.

"It seems to me that you know more about some things than we do. Meanwhile, something seems to have happened to our eggs; but whether it is the women's eggs or the men's eggs, there is no way of knowing."

"Surely it's a good thing, not to have babies when times are bad?"

"But they aren't bad here, they aren't," said Ida, distressed. Then she sighed, and she frowned, and shifted about, taking her feet down off the stool and putting them back up. "Mara, when you are yourself again, when you are strong, will you have a child for me?" Then she seemed to shrink away because of Mara's reaction. "Why not? I'll look after you, and the baby — always, I promise you."

Mara said, "I've been watching babies and small children and even big children die. You haven't seen babies die of hunger."

"I've told you, we've enough food and water to last." And Ida was stretching out her hands to Mara. "I long for a child. I cannot have children. I've been pregnant over and over but I always lose them." And she began to weep, bright little tears squeezing out from between thick painted lashes, and bouncing down off painted cheeks and landing on her white dress, making little smears. "You don't know what it is like," she whispered, "wanting a child, wanting, then conceiving — and then — they're gone."

"Meanwhile," said Mara, "I'm so ugly no one would look at me." She tried to make this sound like a joke but she was suffering, because of all these attractive smooth-fleshed women, and their bright, fresh clothes and their breasts, which they took for granted. Whereas Mara's breasts seemed to have disappeared for ever.

"Oh, Mara, just be patient. You don't know how you've changed in the last few days. And I'm not going to give up. I'm going to ask you again. Meanwhile Kira's trying for me, but so far she hasn't got pregnant."

Mara thought she had never seen anyone as unhappy. Desperate faces, anxious faces, fearful ones — that is what she had been seeing, but never anything like this fretful unhappiness. And she was fiercely thinking, She has plenty to eat, she has clean water, she can wash when she likes, and she is so pretty and fine.