The Love Farmer

Начало книги

ONE DAY, ARRIANGEL was a free citizen of Dilvermoon — wealthy, beautiful, and quite happy.

Then she woke in a strange, narrow bed and looked up to see a bland-faced stranger bending over her.

"Ah. You're with us," said the stranger, in a whispery voice. He smiled with his mouth, but not with his eyes.

She tried to sit up; he pressed her back and slapped a narcosack against her neck. Her muscles melted into uselessness.

The stranger spoke again. "It's my duty to inform you that you are now the property of Specialties, Inc., a subsidiary of SeedCorp/Dilvermoon."

When next she woke, she was alone.

A day passed, then another. Her cell was comfortable enough, though not luxurious. There was a formfit bed, a holotank, a hygiene stall, and several paintings on the walls. These small canvases depicted pastoral scenes, painted in a smooth, impersonal technique. Smiling young men and women tended gardens full of flowers and fruit-laden trees. All were wholesomely attractive, and this was even more apparent because all were naked. When she looked closer, she saw that they all wore thin explosive slave collars, disguised as fashionable silver chokers. She shuddered and turned away.

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