Sedition (25 page)

If my mother is surprised at the state Sascha is in, she doesn’t show it. I wonder if Oliver has betrayed us, if my mother knew about our agreement, but she gives me no signs either way. She begins with a tour of my house, inspecting it for any signs of “noncompliance.” She takes notes on every part of my home; my bedroom, Sascha’s bedroom, the offices, everything. She rifles off a series of questions about what I do, what I use Sascha for, if there have ever been any problems or prior investigations. She demands to see what sort of “correction” tools I own, and I show her the ball gag in addition to a small set of sex toys that I’ve never even used on Sascha. Such tools aren’t required, but I know they make us look better, make me look like more of a compliant slave-owner. Sascha stays huddled close to my side, and I can see from the slight limp he has just how much pain he is in.

Once again, my mother requests our tablets. They are far cleaner than they were last time; the one that Sascha hid my secrets on was cleared when Abriel took him home again, and the rest have been repopulated with trivial data. I’m not stupid enough to get caught the same way again, and Oliver allowed us to store anything we needed for the project on his servers. Our tablets are filled with financial information from Dean & Chanu, popular videos, and fiction books. The slave training manuals stayed on there as well, strengthening our case. My mother looks furious as she jabs at the screen, searching for incriminating evidence that simply doesn’t exist, not there.

We might be safe with our data, but I’ve suffered with my mother for enough years to know she won’t stop there. No matter how many times I’ve safeguarded my interest in the past, she’s always been a step ahead of me, finding my blind spots and exploiting them. I am suddenly so grateful for Sascha’s involvement. I just hope it’s enough.

“Mr. Michaud, why do you think Ms. Dover-Gabbamonte filed a complaint against you and your slave?” my mother asks, still pretending to uphold her civic duties.

“There was a dispute regarding our transaction,” I mutter.

My mother pulls out her tablet, seeking some sort of data to justify her invasion of my home. “In her complaint, she describes your slave as ‘defiant,’ ‘disrespectful,’ ‘corrupted,’ and ‘spoiled.’ She says that he threatened her, stole from her, left his master’s residence without permission, and committed numerous offenses against herself, her toddler, and her husband. She even says that he violated their network and posed fraudulently as Mr. Gabbamonte in order to commit these offenses.”

I’ve read the complaint already, and while the accusations are damning, there is no proof. “Mr. Gabbamonte purchased this slave from me for personal reasons. When he brought Sascha home, it created a rift between him and his wife. My slave committed no fraud; he was caught in the middle of a domestic dispute, the same dispute that I believe fueled Ms. Dover-Gabbamonte’s filing of this complaint. She was not the owner of the boy; her husband was. If you have any more evidence than hearsay of a jealous wife, I’d love to see it.”

She throws the tablets aside, clearly realizing that she’s getting nowhere.

“Maybe we should keep the focus of the investigation to the slave, then,” she suggests, giving me a challenging glare.

“Go right ahead,” I reply, completely confident in Sascha’s abilities. “I’m sure he’ll do fine. After all, I’m a big fan of your method. It produces very high quality slaves.”

My mother doesn’t respond, and the officer casts a sideways glance at her. To anyone else, it would seem that I’m complimenting her.

“Officer Eisen,” my mother says, staring directly at me with a smug look on her face. “I’d like to strip search the boy. Since he’s been accused of being violent, restrain him and keep your gun on him.”

I look at Sascha, trying not to be too apologetic. He’s pleading with his eyes, begging me to save him. But our long-term safety and the integrity of the project are far more important than a little humiliation. “Do as they say,” I give my consent, and Sascha stares from me to the officer, shaking.

The officer is cordial and professional, explaining that he’s going to pat Sascha down, and describing each step as he goes along. He runs his hands through Sascha’s hair, detached and efficient, before ordering Sascha to remove the robe. He complies, revealing the battered mess he’s been reduced to. The officer walks around to his back, inspecting him.

“Put your arms behind your back,” he orders, and the moment Sascha complies, his hands are cuffed. Sascha winces and looks at me for help.

“I’ll take over from here,” my mother announces, shooing the officer away like a fly.

I am more nervous seeing her with Sascha than when I left him with Oliver. At least I knew that Oliver wouldn’t do anything to permanently damage him.

“Spread your legs,” my mother orders, kicking his ankles apart. “I want to see what you’re hiding in there. Make one move and that officer over there will put a bullet through you.”

I watch as Sascha freezes, allowing her to violate his flesh. She molests him, glancing back at me now and then with a triumphant smile on her face, especially when she draws a few pained whimpers. She realizes the extent of the damage that’s been done to him, and she takes advantage of it, poking and prodding until tears fall from his eyes, which he has clenched tightly shut. Even the officer is looking uncomfortable.

“Don’t you think that’s enough?” I snap, unable to tolerate the sight of her touching Sascha anymore.

“I believe in being thorough,” she remarks, finding a bruised patch of skin and squeezing it between her fingers until he cries out. “Although, it looks like he’s already paid for some transgressions.”

“Yes,” I reply, not supplying any further details.

“Tell me, Mr. Michaud, what was this for?” she motions at Sascha’s beaten body. “Was he defiant? Uncooperative? Violent, perhaps? You know, the state does have a vested interest in getting violent slaves off the street. Why did you need to punish him so severely?”

I keep a straight face. “It wasn’t really punishment,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “It was for entertainment. Fun. A sexual perversion.”

My mother’s eyes narrow. “For yourself, or for someone else?” she demands. If she didn’t expect that Oliver and I have partnered, she will now. Oliver all but signed his name on Sascha’s body.

“I find it difficult to see how that connects to the current investigation,” I reply, hoping her sense of propriety will rein her in for now.

It does, although she orders the officer to keep his gun trained on Sascha as she searches the house further.

She paws between cracks in the furniture, looks under the trash can, lifts up pieces of furniture, and does everything she can to turn up something. She is desperate, and it shows. It tells me that she has no reason to press further charges. She bumps a floor lamp, and when she does, the tiniest bit of white flashes out from underneath of it. I tear my gaze away immediately, pretending I didn’t notice it, but she catches it. She’s been watching my reactions more closely than where she’s going the whole time. She picks the piece of paper up, smiling for real for the first time since she entered our home.

“Look at this, a list of re-education centers,” she says, brushing the dust off of it and scrutinizing it. “What is this doing here?”

My heart drops as I try to figure out a way to explain it. Before I have a chance to say anything, Sascha interrupts

“It’s mine, ma’am,” he says.

I want to gag him so he can’t say another word.

“You did this?” my mother demands. “What does a slave need with a list of re-education centers?”

“I…” Sascha is at a loss. He’s shaking, worse than before. I have to do something to help him.

“Answer her, Sascha,” I order, trying to make my tone as demeaning and threatening as possible and hoping he will understand it as a bid for more time. “You better explain right now what you have that list for, before I beat it out of you. Remember last time you disobeyed? You want more bruises to add to your collection?”

I draw out my angry censure, enough that even my mother looks impressed. Sascha glances up at me briefly, letting me know he’s ready.

“I was looking for a friend of mine,” Sascha mumbles. “A boy I went to school with. I had a crush on him. I thought… I just wanted to see if he was okay. I looked up all the re-education centers in the area, and I thought, maybe if I was good, my master would let me call and check.”

“You’re lying!” My mother snaps. “You probably don’t know the first thing about the boys you went to school with! You’re helping him, aren’t you? You’re helping my—”

She came so close to outing herself.

“If it’s true, tell me the name of the boy you were looking for. Maybe I can answer your question for you.”

Despite his terror, Sascha doesn’t hesitate. “Devon Padron,” he answers, not even blinking. “We have the same birthday. I always thought it meant we were supposed to be together.”

I watch as my mother jabs at her communication device, snapping at a few people before reaching her answer. When she hangs up, she glares at Sascha. “You’re little friend is dead,” she announces. “Now your master can punish you for sneaking around.”

“I will most certainly deal with this once the investigation is over,” I announce. “I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

My mother waves the paper at me. “The boy is sneaking around behind your back! Doesn’t this warrant immediate punishment, given what he’s done?”

I pause, considering it. I know what she’s demanding, and I know what she wants to see. Sascha defended me, once again, and he will pay the price. “I just didn’t want to inconvenience you, Ms. Miller. I assumed you had more important matters to attend to.”

“Nothing is more important than protecting my investments,” she says coldly. “I’d like to bring the boy into our evaluation center for further questioning, but perhaps if you cooperate, I’ll reconsider.”

Her threat is clear. I bend, hurt Sascha, and she’ll back down. We have so much to lose… I just hope he’ll understand.

“There’s a whip in the cabinet in the bedroom,” I say quietly, unable to so much as look at Sascha. “Go retrieve it, and make it quick.”

“Yes, master,” he replies.

Naked, beaten, and handcuffed, I can’t help but think that Sascha is the bravest person I have ever seen. He makes his way to the bedroom, retrieves the short whip, and carries it, hands cuffed behind him, back to me. I take it and put a hand on his shoulder, leading him into the living room where I position him against the back of the couch. The officer uncuffs him only to cuff him again in front of his body. I can see the tears on his face, but I can’t see another way out of this.

“Do you know what you’re being punished for, boy?” I ask, reciting the same stock lines my mother’s training system demands.

“For sneaking around and stealing things and wasting time that I should have spent serving you, master,” Sascha replies, playing his part perfectly. He’s sobbing. I can’t tell if it’s real or if he’s acting.

“What punishment do you think you deserve, slave?”

“Whatever you see fit to give me, master.”

It’s like a careful dance; the next part of the act is the beating itself. I want to make it quick, but I don’t. I’m trying to prove something. Not to Sascha, but to my mother. I can be her loyal child, I can follow her dictates, if only long enough to retaliate. I beat him hard, drawing blood to the skin but never breaking it. He dissociates quickly, his sobs quieting as he goes still, the lash moving his body of its own accord. I beat him until my arm tires and he starts to slide down to the floor, and then I stop. I place a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back.

“You may thank me for your punishment.”

The look on his face speaks briefly of revulsion, but I’m not sure if it’s his expression or my own mirrored in his eyes.

He turns, drops to his knees, and presses his head to my feet. “Thank you, master, for reminding me of my place. I won’t disobey you again, or do things behind your back. I’m grateful for your punishment and guidance.”

I want to be sick, but I turn to my mother instead. “Are you done questioning the slave?” I ask, as if none of this means anything to me. When she nods, I place my hand on Sascha’s head. “Go to your room and stay there,” I order, feeling my stomach churn as he flees down the hall without another word.

“Impressive show,” my mother comments. “Perhaps if you had implemented a little more of that discipline, Ms. Dover-Gabbamonte wouldn’t have lodged a complaint against you.”

“Perhaps she’s the one who’s not fit to own slaves,” I suggest.

I notice the officer returning to the room, and I’m surprised that I didn’t see him leave. I was so caught up in Sascha and my mother’s power play that I forgot about his presence. My mother glances at him, a hopeful look on her face, but he shakes his head. I am desperate to find out what they’re communicating about, but I don’t ask.

“I believe we’ve gathered enough information for our investigation,” my mother tells me. “Although it’s too bad we can’t get him into our evaluation center.”

“I’m sure the judge will be satisfied with this data,” I snap, certain she doesn’t have enough evidence to request a warrant. After all, owning slaves is a right, just like owning guns used to be. There’s little she can do without due cause.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” she promises, smiling at me. “Have a lovely day, and remember, the Miller System produces the best slaves in the world!”

I just glare at her. When she leaves, I don’t hesitate to go to Sascha.

He’s lying in his bed, facedown, and it’s hard to pick out the damage I did from what Oliver did. He startles when he hears the door open, and cowers away.

“It’s just me,” I tell him quickly. “My mother’s gone, you—”

Before I can finish, he launches himself at me, pressing himself into my arms and clinging to me. I want to hold him tightly, but I don’t want to hurt him, so I settle for stroking his head, instead.

“Sascha, I’m so sorry,” I whisper. He must hate me, but I’m all he has. “I should never have done this to you. I’ll do anything I can to make it up to you.”