The Academy (50 page)

I’ve had an effect on Chris, Michael marveled. It’s more than the haircut, the tie. Jesus, he as much said that to me right now! Could he—is he still proud of me? Is he glad I came?

He shivered slightly, even though the air was heavy and warm, with the weight of afternoon thunder in the distance. Tucker and Chris continued to chat lightly, and their voices seemed to fade as Michael’s heart pounded to an ever louder intensity.

I feel like kneeling
, he thought, dizzily.
I feel like I want to start crying again and just get down on my knees and wrap myself around his legs and thank him. Oh my God, I feel like I’m going to burst! What’s happening to me?
He blinked rapidly and tried to figure out how to breathe without panting, without gasping for air. Suddenly, the room seemed monstrously calm, as though the breezes from outside and from the overhead fans had stopped. People’s voices were only a slight buzz, their faces a blur.
Take me out of here and do what you want to me,
Michael thought.
I don’t care what it is, make me a trainer, make me a slave, I’ll do it, I can do it now, it’s real now.

And then, suddenly, he realized that Chris was turning sharply to one side, and Michael thought he had spoken out loud. But Chris continued to turn, a look on his face of pure astonishment, and Michael’s ears seemed to pop as one voice cut through the light buzz of the room.

“Avidan, a-v-i-d-a-n...under spotters, there ya go!”

“Ron?” Chris said. “Ron?”

Ron Avidan, quintessential leatherman, gay sexual explorer, and, coincidentally, Chris Parker’s older brother, turned away from the table with a ballot in his hand and a big grin on his face. His mustache had a little more gray in it than when Michael had last seen him a few months before. He was wearing a black tee shirt and jeans that showed off his handsome, long body, and the powerful muscles on his upper arms, and he had a thick earring in one ear.

“Hey, baby bro, what’s up?” he asked, his dark eyes dancing.

“Ron?” Chris repeated. He closed his mouth and then moved forward to catch his brother in a strong forearm embrace, and then in a hug. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, laughing.

“Hey, can’t a man come and vote for his kid brother’s big ideas?” Ron asked, waving the ballot. “Shit, I’m still a spotter, I still got the right to be here, if I want to. I usually just don’t want to.” He laughed.

Chris took a half step back, and turned his head to one side suspiciously. “You did not come all the way to Okinawa on the last day of the Academy to vote on something, no matter who put it up.”

“You’re right,” Ron nodded. “You know, you always were smarter than me. Truth is, I’m here ‘cause someone’s a white-knuckle flyer. And kid, when she calls and says pack up a tux and a passport, you’re coming with me, I still jump.”

Chris paled suddenly, and Michael paled with him. “What?”

Ron only nodded, and Chris turned too sharply for such a practiced and disciplined man, to face a tired and rumpled looking Imala Anderson. Both shocked silence and whispered news spread in the wake behind Chris, and he bowed carefully to her as Tucker made a little gesture of welcome as well. One second too late, Michael followed suit, hating himself for not noticing her arrival and warning Chris.

Anderson nodded back to Chris and smiled briefly at Tucker. Her long, navy blue cotton skirt was light and crinkled, her white blouse limp across her upper body. She looked slightly pale herself, and tired, her hair drawn back sharply into a long black and gray ponytail, her wrists, as usual, decked in bracelets that jangled. Without a word, she walked over to Chris and held a hand out.

“Welcome to Okinawa, Trainer,” he said softly. He placed the sheaf of envelopes into her hand and stepped back as she sorted through them and walked over to the ballot table.

“What a surprise, huh?” Ron laughed, as other trainers came forward to formally welcome Anderson as she registered her name and had the monitors check off her various proxies.

“Why didn’t you warn us?” Michael asked, pitching his voice in a whisper.

Ron shrugged. “I figured if she wanted you to know, she would have told you. Besides, what’s the big deal? We heard you got it wrapped up neatly before we even got here!” He punched Chris lightly on the arm, and Chris let him.

“How did you hear that?” he asked, consciously straightening his tie and shooting his cuffs. “How long have you been here?”

“I dunno, maybe ten minutes. Man, am I beat!” Ron shook his head and stretched a little. “You’re lookin’ good, squirt, and so’s our student here. Mind if I borrow him for some R&R?” He laughed comfortably and leered at Michael, who by now was used to this from Chris’s brother. The first time he had met Ron, Ron had knocked a hat off his head and given him a lesson in old-guard leather etiquette, but in subsequent meetings, he had loosened up a little and begun a campaign of teasing that had changed from threatening to flattering. Especially when Chris told him that he had no intention of letting Ron “handle” Michael, because, as he put it, “Ron is out of touch with Marketplace mores.”

But if he was so out of touch... “You’re a spotter?” Michael asked.

Ron shrugged. “Yeah. Sometimes. I found a few winners, didn’t I, Chris?”

“One or two,” Chris said, slightly distracted. Anderson had finished turning over the proxies from her former students who had given them to her and which she in turn had entrusted to Chris. She then took her own proxy ballot, ripped it up, took a fresh one, initialed her name in the register, and voted, all the while returning the greetings of trainers who wandered over to her to pay their respects. As she dropped her own ballot in the box, she seemed to be totally unconcerned with the procedure, and when she disengaged from Walther Kurgan’s enthusiastic welcome, he did not pursue her, only backed away and re-joined his own conversation group.

She walked back to Chris and Michael and Ron, and Michael was aware of Tucker also backing away slightly.

“Well.” She said the word with a slightly ironic inflection, but her mouth was a grim, straight line. “I think you have some explaining to do, Mr. Parker. Please come with me.” And without another word, she turned toward the door leading back to the Western wing. Chris’s cheek twitched, right along the jawline, and Michael felt a sinking feeling of shame and fear race through him as Chris merely gave a polite nod to Tucker and his brother and then turned as well, to obey her.

Michael started to follow as well—hesitantly, nothing had been addressed to him, but he was now fully disturbed. Anderson did not appear to be pleased—but she had every reason to be overjoyed! The proposal had been doomed from the start—even if it passed, it would have left antagonisms across the ethical and political lines that had made the past few days so awkward. In coming, Chris had saved everyone’s face and gotten the people who believed in his proposal the ability to at least continue their methods in a more organized and mutually supported fashion. It was perfect. She had to see that! And how could she just pull him out of the room like that, not even allowing him the chance to vote, for God’s sake?

But even as he started to move, Ron caught one arm, and another hand caught the other. He looked to his left to see Ken Mandarin, a slender cigar in the corner of her mouth, looking slightly amused.

“That is not for you to see or hear,” she said, drawing the cigar out and blowing smoke in the general direction of the door. “This time, it is best for dingos to stay out of the house, hm?”

“Yeah, you know better than to get involved in whatever’s going on there,” Ron said with a slight note of chagrin. “Just let them take care of things.”

“But—but—it’s not fair! Why is she angry?” Michael almost whispered, not waiting to draw any more attention to what was going on. He struggled and fought down the hint of desperation in his voice. “I don’t understand! What is she even doing here? It’s the last day, for crying out loud!”

“Not your business,” Ron said firmly. “When she wants your input she’ll ask you.”

“Or give it to you, hm?” Ken let Michael go and winked at Ron. “Hello, there, Ron. You are looking well! Why do you not come out to play more often?”

“Because I don’t need the heartache,” Ron said, sighing. He let go of Michael as well, and brushed his hand down Michael’s jacket sleeve, smoothing it down. “Sorry, kid, didn’t mean to grab you like that. Honestly, I don’t know why Imala’s got a bee in her bonnet, I don’t. She called me up three days ago and told me to come with her, and I did. Believe me, there aren’t many people I’d do that for, even if they are holding first class tickets to a tropical paradise. But if she’s got some bone to pick with Chris, that’s their business. I learned my lesson about interfering there a long time ago. Take it from me, just keep your nose out of it and be a good boy, and things will be just fine. In the meantime, why don’t you and Ken take me on a tour of this place? I don’t even have a room yet. And I need something big and tall and frozen, with some tropical fruit in it and a fucking parasol off the side, so let me at one of these perfect slaves and you can tell me all about what went on here, OK?”

“Yes, sir,” Michael said automatically. There was no sense on dwelling on Chris and the Trainer, especially if he had Ron on his hands now. Best to pay attention to what he could do, and hope to get a chance to speak in Chris’s defense later on. Surely Anderson would listen to him, if he approached her politely and spoke respectfully and explained things in a way he knew Chris wouldn’t.
Yes
, he thought, idly eying a serving slave and getting them to bring something that would approximate Ron’s requested drink.
Yes, it’ll be OK, maybe I can get one of these other big shots to chip in on this. Ninon, maybe. Or Walther. I’ll help. And I won’t embarrass him.

* * * *

“So you took it upon yourself to change the proposal,” Anderson said, as she sat down on the couch in her room, spreading her arms along the back.

“Yes, Trainer.” Chris stood facing her, his hands behind his back, his posture formal and his words calm. He had taken the walk there as time to compose himself properly, the presence of the two accompanying slaves keeping them both silent until Anderson’s luggage had been neatly deposited and the slaves gone with twin bows. Anderson had a room much like Ken’s. She had taken a cursory glance out the window before seating herself, but seemed either unimpressed or uninterested in her surroundings. When she lifted her eyes to Chris, they were as cold as they had been in the meeting room.

“Get me a drink,” she said, after a moment of silence. “And explain yourself.”

Chris took one of the heavy glass tumblers and filled it with ice, sparkling mineral water, and a twist of lime. He brought it to her in silence, and then took his place in front of her again, neatly and with grace.

“The disagreements over the proposal were destructive,” he said carefully. “Although by sheer votes it would have passed, it was clear that a coalition of spotters were determined to see it as a way to restrict their freedom of choice in trainers. A smaller number of trainers were also convinced that it would restrict their access to clients and customers, if not put them out of business all together. There was a persistent belief that it would lead to disqualification of various types of training, despite the best efforts to demonstrate that it would not. I decided that in the interests of maintaining a unified community, I would sacrifice the compulsory part of the proposal in favor of a voluntary association. This was met with an astoundingly positive response, and I have every expectation that it will pass resoundingly.”

“All very well and good, except that it was supposed to be a requirement!” Anderson tapped her fingers alongside the glass.

“Yes, Trainer. I take full responsibility for this turn of affairs. If the Trainer would permit, however, I can explain how this will suit her purposes as well as the first proposal.”

“Oh, please do!” Her voice rich with sarcasm, she leaned back, cradling the glass in both hands.

“This new voluntary association will be rich with well known names of experienced trainers,” Chris began, seeing the plan evolving in front of him as it did when he was meditating. “Even the British trainers will join. At the end of the first year, slaves trained by members of this group will be so identified in all catalogs and sale meetings, in their personal files and all member records. Owners will begin to know the difference, even if they never have the direct experience of such slaves—what will be remembered is that most of the highest valued property comes with this seal of approval. In time, owners will want slaves with this type of training because they will perceive a kind of ranking that simply sounds better. It’s sheer marketing, I admit. But it will work.”

“Why?” Anderson put her glass down and leaned forward.

“Because our owners are mostly snobs,” Chris answered smoothly. “They want value for their money, true, but mostly they want prestige. If they perceive this new association as representing the very best trainers who use the very best methods, they will want to buy their slaves because they believe it will enhance their standing among other slave owners. In time, it will be considered either gauche or stupid or merely eccentric to buy a slave whose training hasn’t been certified. And younger trainers will fight to get received by this association so that they have a support network to become able to make these desirable clients.”

“I see,” Anderson said. She sat back without further comment, and Chris suddenly felt warmth flooding up the back of his neck. He took a deep breath as her eyes seemed to sharpen in amusement.

“As you intended,” he said softly.

“Did I?”

He lowered his eyes for a moment, not trusting himself to speak properly. “Forgive my presumption for asking, Trainer—but why? Why not merely propose the association by itself, and not have to struggle through three days of debates and—and...” He took another breath, ashamed of his loss of words, and looked into her eyes again. “Was this another test?” he finally asked.

“No,” she said bluntly. “I knew you’d do the right thing. I didn’t know that the Academy would, though. And I needed to know who would be in on this because they believed in it, not because they thought they could hike their sales records. Now, I’ll know. So will you, by the way.”