Central London 2135

"We didn't teach her to read, you know! It just sort of happened."

The woman, "Bunty" apparently, her old owners' daughter, was making a real mess of things, in T'Pol's humble opinion. It's not as though this slave vendor would have ever KNOWN T'Pol could read. She certainly would never have let on.

"These things DO happen," the odious man replied sympathetically. "It shouldn't be as much of a problem as you imagine, madam. Some of our clients even prefer that their courtesans have some manner of education. And this particular creature certainly has many compensating virtues."

Bunty frowned. "I can't let her go too cheaply. Who knew there was such a thing as inheritance tax? You wouldn't believe how much of the estate I'm having to sell, just to keep the manor in the family! It's ridiculous! My parents already paid tax on everything they've ever bought or earnt! So how can those freeloaders on the government teat possibly be entitled to more?"

The odious man raised an eyebrow. "I QUITE agree madam."

"I suppose they didn't pay tax, per se, on THAT one," Bunty wittered on, waving a gloved hand in T'Pol's direction. "Since they bred her themselves, but they've fed her and kept a roof over her head these forty years, and they certainly paid tax on food and shingles, let me tell you."

"Indeed madam. And I assure you that there will be many suitable buyers among our exclusive clientele..."

"The finances of the whole estate will have to be COMPLETELY reorganised, of course. My father was too soft headed for this sort of thing, but I've acquired the services of an excellent accountant. I shall NOT be leaving this sort of tax bill for my dear little Henry to deal with."

On T'Pol's one and only encounter with dear little Henry, he had kicked her hard in both shins, all while chewing a caramel with his mouth open.

"Your merchandise will fetch the highest prices, madam, I assure you."

"And the reading shalln't be a problem? Because I assure you the little demon just picked it up of her own accord. I do wonder if it might be worth paying to have her muted, to avoid the reading being discovered, only..."

The odious man cooed soothingly. "In my extensive experience, madam, it is to your advantage to leave such bespoke modifications to the taste of the purchaser. Those of us who know quality, we do want things just as we like them, don't we? Now don't worry, I'm certain I'll have good news for you very quickly. Leave it all in my capable hands."

And after only a few more braying sniffs, Bunty was gone, and the odious man turned back to T'Pol, his manner quite altered, now brisk and business like. He donned latex gloves before touching her, and ran a disinterested finger across her teeth, her nipples, her hymen. She could have bitten him, she supposed, but she would have died for it.

"She certainly can talk, can't she?" the odious man muttered aloud. He presumably meaning Bunty as T'Pol had not spoken a word in hours. "My next clients are due. Don't speak unless spoken to."

Some clock somewhere then chimed the hour, and the odious man's odious clients abruptly presented themselves. A father and son presumably. The father a scowling and grizzled sort, wrapped in sun-leathered skin, and finding fault with all that fell beneath his gaze. The son, pale and subtly trembling like a thin wire under tension, glanced somewhat frantically around the room, before fixing his gaze, and then his mind squarely upon T'Pol, as if she were a life vest in a squalling sea.

And scant seconds later, T'Pol found she had been sold as a pleasure slave. Just this morning she had woken up with her mother in their wooden barracks. Her mother's arm had stolen around her shoulder to embrace her as she slept as it sometimes still did even know. She hadn't known then that the last time she'd seen her mother would be the last time.

She knew now.