"Barr Herndon."
"Home-world?"
Herndon paused a moment. "Borlaam."
The Agozlid looked up. "You don't seem much like a Borlaamese to me. Pure-bred?"
"Does it matter to you? I am. I'm from the River Country of Zonnigog, and my money's good."
Painstakingly the Agozlid inscribed his name in the registry. Then he glanced up insolently and said, "Very well, Barr Herndon of Zonnigog. You now own a proteus. You'll be pleased to know that it's already indoctrinated and enslaved."
"This pleases me very much," said Herndon flatly.
The Agozlid handed Herndon a bright planchet of burnished copper with a nine-digit number inscribed on it. "This is the code key. In case you lose your slave, take this to Borlaam Central and they'll trace it for you." He took from his pocket a tiny projector and slid it across the desk. "And here's your resonator. It's tuned to a mesh network installed in the proteus on the submolecular level—it can't change to affect it. You don't like the way the beast behaves, just twitch the resonator. It's essential for proper discipline of slaves."
Herndon accepted the resonator. He said, "The proteus probably knows enough of pain without this instrument. But I'll take it."
The auctioneer seized the proteus and scooped it down from the auction-stand, dropping it next to Herndon. "Here you are, friend. All yours now."