"One of the Rebels," the guard satisfied Margaret's curiosity. "They make good durable slaves when their brains have been treated and they have received the slave-mark of Sin, though of course you must think your orders in detail. Perhaps you had better speak your orders at first, until you grow used to giving thought-commands. In the Vat these Rebels are excellent. So vital.
"Highness Sin also sends you some of her own clothing." He withdrew, and this time did not lock the door.
"Put those dresses down," Margaret told her slave. The girl complied.
"Where is the bath?"
The slave girl pointed. She seemed to have no power of speech and her face was dull and emotionless.
"Get it ready for me."
At first Margaret felt faintly uncomfortable under the girl's mindless stare, but soon grew accustomed to it. The girl obeyed perfectly, like a machine. Sin's gowns clung as though made for Margaret alone, and there was a table loaded with cosmetics. When she was finished Margaret felt more herself. Fresh clothes did wonders for her morale.
Later the guard came again, bowed respectfully, and escorted her to the audience hall. He led her directly to Sin's throne.
"You will want a man, of course," Sin began abruptly. "Which shall it be, Wor or your Victor from Earth? Or does some other catch your fancy?"
Margaret noticed for the first time that Victor was in the room, well back from Sin's dais. He looked worried and a soldier stood just behind him. Perhaps a guard. On Earth he had been an excellent catch, but here he had nothing except a certain sly venomousness to recommend him. And already she had sensed complex undercurrents of intrigue and hinted mysteries within the fortress. She must pick the one who could best help her, no longer by Earth standards but by those of Varda.