Sedition (10 page)

Cash smiles at me, his grip on my arm loosening as if he only realizes now that I’m not going to struggle against him. “So all the scare-tactics that they used to try to scare you straight in school didn’t work?”

I smile, nearly having forgotten the stupid videos they made us watch of people using drugs or not studying or driving carelessly or any other social vice that they could think of to scare us with. “I kind of used them as an instruction manual,” I lie some more, laughing at how ridiculous it is.

“You would,” Cash smirks, leaning over to kiss me. It’s oddly tender, and I tremble, startled by the fact that he would bother to go out of his way to try to cheer me up like this. “Nothing’s ever challenging enough for you on its own, is it?”

Aside from all the lies leading up to it, the statement is true. Sure, I mostly wanted to stupidly, nobly save my brother, but a good ten or fifteen percent was the challenge, seeing if I could do it. I’ve always wanted to win, to beat the game, to prove myself superior to everyone else. Hell, I even deluded myself through a few weeks of training by viewing it as a challenge, and through everything, the challenges are what keep me going. “I don’t like being bored,” I admit.

“I do hope I’m providing you with enough challenges now,” Cash teases, pulling me on top of him and running his hands over my body lazily. “After all, you do tend to start trouble when you’re bored.”

I blush. It’s such a fucking paternal statement for him to make, only highlighting our differences in power and status and age. He must notice my response, because he smiles at me.

“I’d probably do the same thing,” he admits. “I’m never content to just do what I’m supposed to, I’ve always wanted to change things, to leave my mark, to prove something. I don’t think that you’re automatically excluded from that because you’ve been Demoted, Sascha.”

I’m silent, considering it. Isn’t that the purpose of the Demoted system? Excluding people?

“When you were growing up, what did you want to accomplish?” he asks, curious. “Was there something you wanted to see, something you wanted to do? What did you think you’d be doing for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. I’ve always been rather reactionary. I never bothered to plan, because I knew I would be successful at whatever I tried, and nothing really interested me enough that it stood out over other things. “I just knew that I liked to learn about things, and I thought I’d go on to college, and learn more, and maybe do research or something. Kind of behind the scenes stuff. Academic.”

“Then what is stopping you?” Cash points out. “You’ve been Demoted. So what? Their system doesn’t include you,
fine
; it doesn’t apply to you, either. Do what interests you in your spare time, and don’t worry about funding research or taking a job to put food on the table or any of that. If there’s something you need, let me know and I’ll get it for you. It’s something that most free people don’t have at their disposal.”

I nod, seeing the logic behind his words. An opportunity to be happy. I’d be a fool to turn it down. I’ve never wanted fame or recognition. If someone had told me five years ago that I’d be able to spend all day eating gourmet food and having access to anything I wanted, I would have been ecstatic.

But if someone told me that I would be challenged every day, that I could help to change, if not actually destroy, the system that tore my brother and me apart, that went on to destroy my life? I would have jumped at the challenge. The Assessment ruled my life as a child; as an adult, my status as being Demoted filled that void.

“I want to help you,” I say suddenly, placing my hands over his to stop him from distracting me. “I want to work with you, all of it, like you offered. I don’t care if it’s dangerous, and I don’t care if it’s hard. I need this.”

He smiles and nods, and when I finally let go of his hands, he resumes touching me. “Thank you,” he says, smiling at me. “We’ll move this to the next level together.”

I grab his hands again, shoving them out of the way so I can access him better, kiss him on my terms. He’s surprised, but he seems to enjoy it. I’m not joining his research project because he wants me to, and I’m not going to fuck him because he wants me to. I want to.

Chapter 9
Stealth

Cash and I become closer as a few more weeks pass, and we both become more invested in his research. I’m content; what’s more, I’m interested in what he’s doing. What we’re doing, now that I’ve agreed to be a part of it. The more I learn about it, the more interested and fascinated I am. It’s thoroughly grounded in existing research, psychological theory and science. I devour the background information he gives me as quickly as I can, and I pester him about it, when I’m not helping, or when I’m not taking care of paperwork from his day job. It seems like we’re so close to being ready; gathering our funding sources, partnering with the right people. I want to see it happen, I want the results already.

He’s been down this road before, though, and he’s determined not to start until he knows he will finish successfully. He tells me to just wait “a little longer” or “a few more weeks,” and it’s not satisfying. I want it
now
, as much as I once wanted the Assessment results
now
, and I throw myself into research on the Demoted even more than Cash does. I’ve been able to read and learn as much as I wanted to since Cash bought me; it’s just never held as much appeal as it does now that I have a reason behind it. He encourages me, engages me in discussions, shares my excitement. I forget to be afraid of anything, too eager to see this succeed.

Of course, despite our academic debates behind closed doors, I am still expected to play slave at social functions, whether at my master’s legitimate business or at his other business. The work for Dean & Chanu is easier, because I usually don’t need to care about it. Cash is polite and cordial, I play the pretty, dumb slave, and all is well. The words that are spoken mean less than nothing to me, now that I know it is little more than a front. I can relax; sometimes even flirt with coworkers who seem interested in me, because it makes Cash seem more normal. He fits in this way, and I’m happy to help him.

He makes progress toward our research as well, making com calls to strangers, sending messages, even setting up meetings with people in strange places. He lets me in on the details, confiding every illicit act, risky alliance, and shady arrangement. There are no more barriers between us, at least, not on his end. In response, I start to offer him little pieces of my life as well; bits of my history, stories about my childhood, about me and Abriel, things I’ve always hoped. It’s not so terribly painful to consider memories and hopes anymore, because I have new ones. We become more connected, more powerful as a team. He takes me out with him everywhere now, and I make him look like a reputable slaveholder. It’s easy to hold my tongue and play nice; now that I know what the stakes are, and what our goal is, it’s not a simple test of my obedience. It’s smarter to stay quiet and observant than it is to run my mouth, no matter how much I want to.

The project-related social functions are an exciting challenge, because I am completely informed about what is happening now. I understand the subtle hints and turns of phrase between Cash and others as they discuss “the project” in hushed tones, because only some of the people attending really know what they are working on. In general, it seems that everyone in attendance has some sort of underground dealings or secret businesses, but nobody knows who is working on what.

At first, no one but Cash knows the true purpose of his research; even some of his potential backers, like Torenze, think that he is conducting business on more legitimate things. He lets word slip out carefully, through informal channels, that his research is on the re-education centers, and on slaves. He preps me before we go, letting me know that I am to be his ears. After casually mentioning his research interests to a group of people, he glances around, making a show of finding a bathroom.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on my boy?” he asks. “The bathrooms here are so crowded. I’d hate to take up extra space. He’ll entertain you, if you want.”

They smile amenably, waiting until he’s out of earshot to begin discussing him. They pet and play with me as they do, nothing awful, just a hand on my head, or my ass, something like that. Sometimes I even kneel at their feet, innocuous as a house pet, and they speak freely in front of me just the same.

“He’s got some interesting ideas,” one man comments. “But it’s too risky. Messing with the Demoted system is a sure way to get the law after you.”

“I don’t think it necessarily has to be illegal,” another woman comments. I make my way over to her, nuzzling against her legs to be sure I hear her. “There are plenty of good improvements. Besides, the Demoted system is getting past the point of usefulness. Kids today are so obsessed with the Assessment, they do nothing else. It’s unhealthy.”

“What’s unhealthy is fighting that system,” another comments, looking at me. “Aren’t you worried about your master?”

I smile up, feigning innocence. “Sometimes he can take a long time in the bathroom, ma’am,” I reply, smiling at her like I have no idea what she’s even asking. “That’s probably why he didn’t want me to come with him.”

They laugh at my expense, and I laugh along with them. They think I’m too clueless to realize the joke is on me; the best part is, the joke is on them all along.

When he returns, he asks what snacks I’d like, and I tell him, rifling off my preferences like a spoiled, flighty slave. “Crackers sound good, but grapes might upset my stomach. A soda would be nice, but not until later. I definitely don’t want any pie.”

While the other guests smirk at my inane preferences, Cash is listening carefully. We’ve coded each guest to a particular food; those I’m “craving” correspond to guests who are amenable to the project, and who are privately invited to join with promises of grand financial returns and publicity. The others are the ones who are given the impression that the project is failing, allowing them to withdraw gracefully and forget the project ever existed. They are always surprised when Cash asks them to join, because they can’t figure out how he knows. I nibble on my crackers and pretend not to be aware of anything.

Torenze remains our top recruit, and by far the hardest to pin down. The man is slimy and evasive, never committing to one ideal or another, and half the time it is difficult to tell whether he’s lying or telling a complete line of bullshit to everyone.

He hints, time and time again, that he’d like to borrow me, inviting Cash over for dinner, asking what he likes to do to me, hinting that he should be allowed to take me into the bathroom for a “sample” of my abilities. It makes me increasingly uncomfortable, and Cash is clearly growing irritated with him as well. At first, the attempts are turned down playfully, insisting that Cash is too fond of me, or that I am not trained well enough, or that Cash just generally doesn’t like to share. Finally, the last time that Torenze hints at it, Cash turns him down, right to his face, even grows a little angry with him. As much as it pleases me to see him turned down, and as much as I’m glad not to be shared with him, I can’t help but think of the repercussions.

I’m even more worried when Cash tells me that we’re desperately in need of his support for the project, and that we’ll be attending another event with him the following week.

The week flies by, since I’m actively trying not to think about it, and before I know it, I’m being dressed up and dragged to the event that I absolutely do not want to attend. I know Torenze will be there, as well as some other key players, and I’m worried about all of them. Hell, I’m worried about the ones who aren’t involved, because it is as important to keep them out of things as it is to get Torenze into it. I assess the guests, taking note of who is here and who isn’t, who is representing which industry and business interest. I know that most of the people here aren’t aware of Cash’s project. They just see him here as an investor, representing his day job, pretending to be an up-and-coming young businessman. Torenze knows, though, he knows too much, and he’s furious at Cash for his earlier refusal to share me. I can tell from the moment he refuses to greet us when we pass by.

We settle in, and I hear Torenze make an off comment about my master to someone, someone who shouldn’t know. It’s a thinly veiled hint about the scandal that my master caused years ago. Torenze glances at us as he does it, and the challenge is evident in his eyes. I poke insistently at Cash’s arm until he attends to it, looking irritated and puzzled by the betrayal his former mentor is threatening.

“Oliver, nobody wants to hear old stories like that,” he tries, the lie coming off as awkward from such a confident man. “Why don’t you—”

“Well, Cashiel, I could always tell them about more recent research instead?” Torenze suggests, his tone far more benign than his intentions.

I feel my blood pressure rise. I don’t know what the fallout of this would be for Cash or for me, and I don’t want to find out. I clutch anxiously at Cash’s arm, because, as a slave, that’s really my only option.

“You know there are a lot of… privacy issues inherent in that,” Cash mumbles, tense.

I hate seeing him this vulnerable, so completely at the mercy of someone else. I hate feeling that way myself; somehow it is worse to see my master acting that way. At least I’ve had practice.

Cash shoots him a desperate look. “I’d appreciate it if the business proposals I’ve shared with you stay between us, for now.”

“Hmm, sharing, what a concept,” Torenze points out. He’s not pushing any further, but the threat is there, and it is clear. He’s retaliating against my master’s refusal to share me. Threatening to destroy a business, destroy a man’s life, all because a pretty little sex slave isn’t up for grabs. I’d feel like Helen of Troy, except I really don’t think I’m
that
special. It’s the principle of the matter; any slave could take my place for Torenze.