Succession (17 page)

“Would you rather top, or bottom?” I egg him on. I’m looking for a fight.

“As it pleases you, master.”

The change is noticeable, even though I don’t know him well. It’s the first time Sy has avoided a direct answer.

I harden my tone. “Do you like getting fucked?”

“As it pleases—”

“Do you enjoy being penetrated by another man?” Suddenly, all I want is his answer. I want him to submit to me, to answer my question, to act like the good slave that Sascha will never be because I love him too much to demand it. “Do not make me ask again.”

Sy glares back at me, defiance finally starting to show in his eyes. “No, master. I do not. But I won’t fight you.”

“Of course you won’t. I won’t force you. I’m not interesting in doing anything sexual with someone who hates it.” Once I get what I want, I don’t want it anymore. I’m ashamed again, appalled that I would make this man who has been nothing but helpful suffer through such humiliation.

“I won’t come between you and Sascha, sir,” Syrus tells me, his voice quiet. “But you’ll push him away. He needs you. You were all he wanted, the whole time we were in the detention facility. If you want to hurt someone, to feel powerful, you can use me. I can handle it. He can’t. He doesn’t even need to know it happened.”

“I’m not an animal,” I mutter, although it’s exactly how I’ve been behaving. “I’m sorry. For this, and for yesterday. You’ve been so helpful to me and Sascha, you deserve better.”

Syrus just nods. It would be easier to handle him if he were combative.

“Perhaps, sometime, if everyone is in agreement, you would like to join us,” I offer quietly. “That’s what I was going to ask before I turned our conversation into a pissing match. I do find you attractive, and while I wouldn’t do anything to you that you didn’t like, the idea of watching you and Sascha together holds its appeal.”

“I’ll take that into consideration, sir,” Sy answers. “What would you like me to do while we’re at home? Is there work, anything I should know about?”

I shake my head. “I’ll get you set up with a tablet,” I decide. “You can do whatever you’d like. Relax, enjoy yourself, try to excuse my rude behavior.”

Sy smiles at me. “That should keep me busy.”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s joking, but I appreciate it. For his sake, and for Sascha’s, I vow to try harder with him.

Chapter 15
Public Eye

Edson has advised me to take “any publicity, good or bad,” in order to seem more relatable to the public. While the state attorney’s office has forbidden me from discussing the actual details of the legal case against me, they haven’t ordered me not to discuss anything else, and my lawyer reminds me repeatedly how important it is to have the support of the public in this very media-saturated issue.

I arrange my first public event as an interview with an internet reporter who calls himself “Veracity.” He’s not the biggest name in the business, but he was the first one to offer me and opportunity to meet with him, in front of a live audience, and answer his questions and ask my own without being held to a script. He’s thrilled to have me, hoping my appearance will push his small-time feature into a household name, and within a few days of my release, his team has rented an event venue and sold out thousands of tickets.

It’s strangely unnerving to see my face on advertisements for days before the event.

He has also graciously allowed me to bring both Sascha and Syrus, completing my image as a friendly, neighborhood slave owner. I’ve completed all the paperwork needed to legitimize Syrus as my bodyguard, and Sascha and I have reviewed a variety of publicity statements, making sure I am prepared to answer any questions in the most beneficial manner possible. The three of us arrive hours early, and we are still hounded by media reporters as we push our way out of the hov-car and into the back of the venue. Hearing that the public is incited about something and being in the midst of that excitement are two entirely different things. Sy blocks me as much as he blocks Sascha, and with the help of the venue’s security team, we make it inside unscathed.

Looking out at the crowd that has assembled for us is daunting. Social events and parties are one thing; to be the center of attention for an entire room is entirely something else. Veracity has introduced me to his audience already, at the same time as he showed them clips of me being arrested. They actually boo me as I take my seat. Veracity smiles, because bad reactions draw so many more viewers.

“Cashiel—can I call you that? I hope you don’t mind—it seems like you don’t have too many friends here!” Veracity observes, still looking pleased about the fact.

“I guess not,” I admit. “But exposing a broken system doesn’t make many friends. I wish I had discovered something different, but it’s time for change.”

Veracity nods. “You’re taking on the Miller System! That’s a lot of change. What do you hope to accomplish with this move?”

I can hear the crowd growing more agitated, and Sascha shifts, moving closer to me. “I want the best,” I answer. “I want the most efficient system, one that works better than any other. The Miller System worked for years, but some of my research shows that it might not be that great anymore. We can do more with our Demoted population. They are an underutilized resource.”

“I see you have a few of your resources with you,” Veracity motions at Sascha. “Come on over, let the audience get a good look at you!”

Sascha pretends to be shy, hiding next to me for a moment until I shoo him away. We planned it in advance; he needs to continue strengthening my image. He slinks over to our host, the thin fabric he’s chosen clinging to his body and emphasizing all of his best features. He stands in front of the host, his head bowed deferentially, and he waits.

“What is it that you do for your master?” Veracity asks, giving the audience a knowing smile.

Sascha turns to me, waiting until I nod my permission for him to answer. He turns his body so he can face both the audience and the host, and he gives a sweet smile. “Well, there’s the obvious, sir,” he begins, drawing a few laughs. Once the crowd quiets, he becomes more serious. “I help my master to cook and clean, entertain business guests, to relax. And I help him with his research. I check his figures, help him figure out problems, research things for him so he has more time to focus on what’s important. I like to work with numbers, and he’s given me the training to do what he needs. Nobody wants a product that only serves one purpose.”

Before Veracity can ask another question, Sascha recoils as a soda bottle hits him in the head.

“I’ve got a purpose for you right here!” the person who threw the bottle calls out, gesturing to his crotch.

The bottle is nearly empty, and the venue’s security rushes over quickly, but not before I catch our host signaling for the camera crew to zoom in the conflict. They miss the shaken look that Sascha gives me, focusing instead on the commotion starting in the audience. As the man is dragged out between two security guards, the audience takes it upon themselves to air their opinions, yelling and booing.

“I’m the only one putting on a show today,” Veracity reminds our audience, trying to make light of it. “Our guest is just trying to make the system better, right?”

The crowd erupts in protests again; they refrain from throwing things this time, but it’s clear that our host’s inflammatory statement hit its mark.

“Leave the Miller System alone!” someone yells.

“We don’t need any more changes!”

“Go do your research in a nation that cares! The Miller System works!”

It’s not like I don’t understand why they’re angry. The state of the Demoted system was so bad before the Miller System that nobody wants to risk going back to anything of the sort. The Miller System worked for decades and people have come to love it. Worse, the history of the nation before the fourth World War was so miserable that any perceived challenge to the structures that were put into place, including the Demoted system, brings threats of a return to those conditions. Some are afraid that the Demoted system will be destroyed, others are afraid that its reach will enslave more people. Change is a threat, and my research brings that threat to life. The audience members glare at me, hating the possibilities that my data has created. Lewd gestures and unfriendly faces litter the audience.

Sy takes it upon himself to step out from behind my shoulder, placing himself next to Sascha instead. I’m glad I have him with me.

“Cashiel, your public records indicate that you went years without owning a slave,” Veracity changes course. “You bought the little one not long ago, and it seems that your bodyguard is a very new addition. Care to share with the audience why you’ve suddenly become interested in the more personal side of the industry?”

I nod, pleased with the question. “I bought Sascha to do exactly what he described. As a younger man, I didn’t have much responsibility—work, friends, nothing that required much of my time. But once I became interested in improving the Demoted system, I reconsidered it. Not only that, but my own research was showing me just how great a resource they could be, when trained properly.”

Veracity adjusts his microphone and leans in, pretending to be intimate. “I heard you found him at a brothel?”

“Demoted whore!” someone yells from the audience.

The catcalls from the audience grow louder and more critical, but I’m prepared. Sascha has researched our interviewer and shared the details with me. “The two of you have a common start,” I reply. “I heard you got your start filming Demoted fetish videos.”

The interviewer turns bright red, making some sort of hand signal to turn the cameras away from him. The camera crew focuses on Sy and Sascha, instead.

“Your newest acquisition is your bodyguard,” Veracity continues, ignoring our last topic. “Tell me how he fits into your plans. Many of your abolitionist supporters were shocked when they saw the footage of you with another slave. Is this a strategic move?”

The noise from the crowd makes it difficult to hear, and the venue’s security has their hands full containing the agitated group. I speak loudly, hoping they aren’t drowning me out.

“Sometimes people throw things, sometimes they might do more,” I explain, casual. “I thought a bodyguard might be necessary. I’m no abolitionist, and I have better things to do than strategize my purchases. I bought the bodyguard because I needed a bodyguard. It is exactly what my research focuses on, though—we need to use our resources, not waste time with them. They are productivity tools, something the Miller System seems to have overlooked in the past few years.”

“I take it you didn’t pick him up at a brothel?” Veracity asks, flashing a challenging look at me.

“No, I did not.” I’m not here to talk about Syrus. I’m supposed to be here to talk about the project.

“So, where did he come from?” Veracity persists. “There doesn’t seem to be much public record for him. Just your purchase a few days ago. Isn’t that unusual?”

The crowd titters like I’ve committed some sort of crime. I hear more people shouting at me, at us, accusing me of sabotaging the entire Demoted system, of being a traitor to my country, to being in love with my slaves. This is the first I’ve heard about Sy’s lack of record; the last I knew, he had a full, accessible record, one that I have a copy of. I wonder who exactly is hiding it.

“I guess there are other things that our system has overlooked,” I answer, shrugging. It’s flippant, but I’m hoping to take the focus away from my personal life. Instead, the criticisms get louder, stronger.

“Like letting scum like you out of prison!” someone calls, making me wonder if I’m really helping my case here. If I didn’t know better, I would guess that the audience had been hand-picked from those who oppose me.

The crowd has risen to its feet, and fistfights have broken out between the attendees and the guards, some between the attendees themselves. Veracity is quiet for a moment, likely listening to the event staff on the small device clipped to his ear, but after a moment, he continues.

“Why target the Miller System?” he asks. “Why not the whole Demoted industry?”

“Traitor!” a chorus of voices shouts.

“Take your terrorist ass and kill yourself!” another adds. “Take your slaves with you!”

This time it’s a shoe that comes flying, and this time it’s at my head. Sy bats it away easily now that he’s watching for it. I continue to answer, pretending nothing is wrong.

“I have no problem with the Demoted industry,” I state, making my voice loud and firm. “The Demoted system has revolutionized the developed world, just like the international hov-car lanes did decades ago. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t keep updating the roadways. At its core, the Demoted system works. It’s the foundation of our country’s peace and prosperity. I would never want to change that. I just want to make it better. The Miller System is the weakest point of the industry.”

My words incite the crowd further, and even those who had been listening attentively at first have devolved into screaming. Some are holding up signs with slurs against me, most are holding up signs supporting the Miller System. Many have started using the signs as weapons. Veracity covers his microphone and snaps at the security team to get their shit together, but the sheer number of people who are angry far outweighs the available staff. In a move of bravery or ignorance, our host continues the interview at a yell.

“Cashiel, we may have to take a break—what is one thing you would like our viewers to remember about this interview?”

Before I have a chance to answer, a blur of light whizzes through the air, and when it lands, fire spreads across the stage. Someone has thrown some sort of Molotov cocktail, and others contribute by throwing whatever they have handy.