“I told my Commander that I hadn’t gotten over being made a volunteer, and I explained that if I spoke to you about it, it may lessen my trauma around what happened.”

“Volunteer,” she repeats back. “You mean ‘slave.’”

“I’m not a slave here,” I correct her.

“I don’t mean to offend you, but you have a slave name, and you carry the mark of a slave. You know that male sitting right there,” she points to the doctor, “could remove that in a matter of minutes as if it was never there.”

I don’t look at the doctor. “I know that now. But I assure you I’m not a slave here. I have a lot of responsibilities, and I’m treated like any other crew member.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” she says. “Do you own any clothing without your Commander’s mark on them?”

She had me there. “No.”

“See?”

“But, I have my own quarters, and I have been given a language program and encouraged to learn about the Silver’s culture. I have important responsibilities.”

“Who are the Silver?”

I look at her blankly. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Who are the Silver?” she asks again.

“These aliens. That’s what I call them, and they call themselves. How do you not know?”

She laughs at me, turning this back on me. “But you’re not a slave?”

“I guess that’s what I’m here to determine for myself. Can I ask you some questions?”

“You don’t need to ask me if you can ask me questions. I’m here, aren’t I? See, you even act like a slave with me.”

Thankfully, my confidence is still riding high from the Commander’s words of praise, ‘You are not a slave,’ so I let her insult slide off my shoulders. “Do you have your own quarters?”

“I choose to sleep with my commander,” she says proudly.

I gasp, as does the doctor.

“Are you married to him?” I know enough about Silver culture to know that unmarried women never have sex with men unless they are prostitutes.

“No. I choose to sleep with him,” she replies proudly. “I take it your Commander does not treat you as well as I am treated. Given that you still are a slave, it’s not surprising.” She looks me up and down, “You’re not ugly, especially if you put some effort into it. Perhaps your Commander just doesn’t like females.”

“I wouldn’t know what he likes that way,” I say quickly. “Our relationship has always been professional.”

“But you are his valet,” she says as if that’s a code for something.

“Yes,” I look at her blankly. “It’s a real position on every ship in the fleet, usually filled by a Silver.”

“But you undress him every day.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I undress myself, nor does he do anything but change clothing. On this ship, there are strict rules about sex.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “All the pirates have those rules on their ships.”

“Not to be rude, but I don’t understand how your commander can flaunt those rules with you so blatantly if you are not a slave still?” I ask.