Doll-collar [165] (298 words)

Sorr added sequins and shells to her collar. She was not common. She was a proud Gqarian. And she was no slave. Oh ... on this world she had to pretend she was. It wasn't safe to not be owned by someone. Oh, to be home and free!

But she had a job to do. Her brother posed as her owner. He did the trading. Women were supposed to been seen not heard in the market. She kept ears open and the recorder in her collar charged. Not that she needed it. She could memorize anything important and report it verbatim.

But sometimes stray comments would be made as if they didn't matter.

Her brother had agreed to come on her mission. She didn't expect any problems but she could never do this spying solo. Better her brother. She could trust him. Plus he was younger and knew who was boss.

Traders were playing cards, sipping tea, chit-chat that seem innocent and boring...

They kept referring to her as her master's doll. So pretty. So young. So ... Sorr smiled. She knew 100 ways to flay their skins and hang them to dry. Let them try.

"Why does your slave attach pretty things to its collar. A choke chain would do just as well." She'd heard this so many times. "It likes shells," her brother answered.

"Well those shells are worth trading for."

Her ears perked up. If her brother traded the shells she would be part of the deal. Her brother knew that. She gripped her leash between her jaws. He got the message.

It was time to go.

"Report!"

"The outpost trades in slaves and illegal goods like shells. The dice are loaded and so are the cards. The tea is tainted." No one, no one fooled Sorr.