"She can't." His hands fell to his sides. "Neither can you, Cadnan. I'm—look, there's a guard stationed right down the corridor, watching this door every second I'm here. There are electronic networks in the door itself, so that if you manage somehow to open it there'll be an alarm." He paused, and began again, more slowly. "If you go past me, or if you get the door open, the noise will start again. You won't get fifteen feet."
Cadnan understood some of the speech, and ignored the rest: it wasn't important. Only one thing was important: "She can not die."
Dodd shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said flatly. "There's nothing I can do." A silence fell and, after a time, he broke it. "Cadnan, you've really messed things up. I know you're right—anybody knows it. Slavery—slavery is—well, look, whatever it is, the trouble is it's necessary. Here and now. Without you, without your people, we couldn't last on this world. We need you, Cadnan, whether it's right or not: and that has to come first."
Cadnan frowned. "I do not understand," he said.
"Doesn't matter," Dodd told him. "I can understand how you feel. We've treated you—pretty badly, I guess. Pretty badly." He looked away with what seemed nervousness. But there was nothing to see outside the door, nothing but the corridor light that spilled in and framed him.
"No," Cadnan said earnestly, still puzzled. "Masters are good. It is true. Masters are always good."
"You don't have to be afraid of me," Dodd said, still looking away. "Nothing I could do could hurt you now—even if I wanted to hurt you. And I don't, Cadnan. You know I don't."
"I am not afraid," Cadnan said. "I speak the truth, no more. Masters are good: it is a great truth."
Dodd turned to face him. "But you tried to escape."
Cadnan nodded. "Dara can not die," he said in a reasonable tone. "She would not go without me."