Mr. Epitome stood at parade rest on the observation deck of the Caphan flagship. He watched the fleet of reedy vessels navigate their way through what he assumed was hyperspace, though he wasn’t that was the correct terminology. To the Paragon of Power, such esoteric violations of the laws of physics seemed more appropriate for a Saturday morning cartoon than any mission he would be part of.
He was not alone. A pair of escorts had been assigned to him and the grim-looking sentinels shadowed him whenever he had left his personal quarters, as had been for Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Epitome’s fellow ambassador. But whereas the august Englishman had hurumphed that he had no interest in “playin’ ‘Follow The Leader’ with some wet-behind-the-ears guardsmen” and remained to putter about his temporary domicile, Epitome had made the decision to tour as much of the ship as possible.
(As an aside, Dominic doubted very much the old duffer was doing much puttering. Of plotting and scheming, there was no doubt in his mind those were occurring in excess.)
There was the sound of the bulkhead door sliding open from behind a deep maroon brocade that served as a façade for the true nature of the vehicle that transported them at speeds faster than light.
Two more soldiers pulled aside the tapestry to allow a woman to enter. She was tall and matronly, with her hair swept back in an ornate mane. This Caphan woman was unlike the others aboard in that she one was actually wearing clothes, a purple colored sari looking thing that still showed her ample cleavage.
Epitome had seen her before; she was present at his and Mumphrey’s council with Prince Aarmus and the Reptiloid. The woman wore a slave’s collar, though it was less prominent than the ones worn by the common harem girls.
“Lord Epitome, I am Kriige, chattel of the House of Daarthon. Might I speak with you?”
“It is Mr. Epitome, Miss Kriige. And of course.”
Kriige smiled and offered Dominic her arm. After a moment he acquiesced and let her lead him to one of the deck’s many settees.
“My master is pleased you have made the effort to enjoy his hospitality, given the circumstances of your visit.”
Epitome shrugged noncommittally, “Touring your ship has been an educational experience.”
“One your superior has shown no interest in taking advantage of,” Kriige noted.
“Travel takes a lot out a person of Sir Mumphrey’s age,” Dominic smirked from behind his cowl.
The Caphan laughed slightly, enough to be polite but no too much to appear a sychophant, “These hyper jaunts can be tiresome, yes. But what are your opinions of what you’ve seen? Do you have any questions that I may answer?”
Epitome doubted Kriige could explain to him exactly how the ship’s trans-warp engines worked, or be willing to part with an details of Prince Aarmus’s troop strength, but he indulged her, “Yes. I have yet to see any free Caphan females on board. Am I incorrect in assuming such a thing exists in your culture?”
“Not in the sense you humans think of. There is no “Women’s Lib” on Caph IX. Our culture does have a select caste of women, however, who come close to your defintion of “free.” However, it is forbidden for the Ladies to travel aboard a warship. They are a distraction.”
“Unlike you and the other harem girls,” Dominic noted facetiously.
Again Kriige laughed, though this time seemed more genuine, “A Lady of Caph has great value to her House. It is too much of a risk for her to be lost or… soiled. Surely you understand that, given your own country’s reluctance to allow women into combat.”
Epitome was impressed with her knowledge of his country’s military policy on gender relations, “Yes, but that policy has its merits. It’s based on sound sociological reasoning.”
“And ours is not?” Kriige inquired.
“Not really, no.”
“Tell me why you think that?”
“Because a society based on slavery suffers from moral decay and inefficiency. It is hopelessly anachronistic, clinging to past mores when technology has made the institution of slavery unnecessary. Why does a culture that has mastered space travel need slaves? You are deliberately dehumanizing a portion of your population, keeping them ignorant and fettered, and thus denying your culture productive citizens.”
“Dehumanizing?” Kriige arched her eyebrow quizzically, but in good humor.
“For lack of a better term, yes.”
“You don’t think that being a concubine has afforded me opportunities that would have otherwise been denied to me, because of my gender?”
“Perhaps, but your culture’s misogyny is a separate issue. I’m talking about the slave caste as a whole, whose potential is wasted because they are treated like property, rather than part of the body politic.”
“Ask a hundred Caphan slaves if they wish freedom and ninety would demur. A good master, from a good house, takes care of his slaves as a parent would a child.”
Epitome had read those arguments before, of course, from men of his own country’s past. Thomas Roderick Dew, Linton Stephens. Apologists for a tradition that was archaic even before Moses appeared from the rushes.
“Freedom is a frightful thing, Miss Kriige. That still doesn’t make it unnatural to the human condition. Or Caphan,” he stood and nodded slightly, “Good day.”
*****
“Near as I can figure, she’s some kind of courtesan, a step above in rank from the normal bodyslaves,” Epitome reported to Sir Mumphrey later, “She was surprisingly knowledgeable of Earth history.”
Mumph inspected a bunion and nodded absently, “Mr. Bookman has said since our showing in the Transworld Challenge learning the whys and wherefores of our planet has become a bit of a cottage industry out here. The universe is looking to figure out the secrets of our success, what?”
“They certainly could learn a thing or two from us, sir,” Epitome noted.
“So did she?”
“I beg your – oh, you mean Kriige,” Dominic shook his head, slightly embarrassed he didn’t follow the older man’s train of thought, “No, I don’t think that was her intention just yet. It was more of a cursory interview. Testing the waters, as it were.”
“Hope you used the old Irish charm to keep her at bay, Dominic-me-lad,” Mumph smiled and slung his sock back on.
“Of course. I must admit though, sir, I think the time for diplomacy is coming to an end. The situation demands action, not intrigue.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” the Legionnaire stood and looked Epitome in the eye, “That’s why you’re here, after all….”
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