The Collar and the Cavvarach

by Annie Douglass Lima

  “It sounds great.” Bensin wasn’t sure what anyone his age would do with a gun, but he supposed it would be fun to have, if only to show off to your friends.

  “Hey, do you have to be back at a certain time, or can you hang out for a bit? I could show you the rest of my sports stuff if you want, or we could shoot baskets or something.”

  Bensin hesitated. “I’m not too good at basketball. I should probably just go home. I — I don’t want your dad to get mad or anything.”

  “Dad won’t get mad. He likes you.”

  Bensin knew that couldn’t be true. What Watch officer would like a person who had ever broken the law? But he didn’t see any point in saying so. His dad must not have told him how he first met me. “I guess I could maybe stay for a few minutes,” he allowed.

  To his surprise, he enjoyed himself. First they shot baskets in the bedroom with an extra-small ball. Nate did much better than he did, but the free boy didn’t make fun of him for his missed shots. In the meantime, he played music from his computer and talked about his favorite songs, but Bensin had no idea who the singers were. After all, Coach Steene never listened to music at home and only turned on the radio in the truck when he wanted to check traffic or see how his favorite sports teams were doing.

  Then Nate showed him the rest of his collection of programs and memorabilia from sports events. Bensin was afraid he would say something stupid and reveal his ignorance, so he didn’t comment on the music and only made a few admiring remarks about the sports tickets and programs and trading cards. Still, they were interesting to see, and it was fun to hang out with a free person his age who didn’t treat him like a slave.

  But what was Ricky’s rule about friends? Don’t make the mistake of actually trusting your free friends, and let them think you know you’re not as good as they are. Well, Bensin certainly wouldn’t be trusting Nate with any information about his plans for his sister. And he would be careful to be humble, all right. Who knew what Officer Shigo might do to a slave who wasn’t polite to his son?

  “You want to play a game on my computer?” Nate inquired, sliding his sports box back into the closet. “I’ve got some really fun two-player ones. There’s one where you can pick a weapon and follow clues to track down criminals. You could try out the Stinger 700 if you want.”

  Bensin felt his face turning red. He didn’t want to admit that he had never actually used a computer before.

  “I, uh, I really should probably be going,” he stammered. “My owner won’t like it if I’m home too late. Thanks, though.”

  “Oh. Well, okay. I guess I should probably get started on my homework. I’ve got a big chemistry test this week, and my grade’s kind of hanging on it. That’s my hardest class.”

  Bensin wondered what it would be like to go to school fulltime like Nate. He hadn’t been to school since he was ten, and even then, it had only been in the mornings. And they didn’t assign homework or give grades in slave school.

  What if the only work I had to do was schoolwork, and I got two whole days off every week? What if I had my own computer and knew how to use it and someday I could get a job sitting in an air-conditioned office and be paid for all my work? What would it be like to live with my whole family instead of an owner and know that none of them would ever be sold away to someone who could mistreat them?

  The thought made him wistful. But what was the point in wishing and wondering? It would never happen. That wasn’t his life. But it will be Ellie’s life, Bensin vowed. And it will start soon. If she were about to be sold, he had no other choice.

  The week went by fast, full of his workouts, gardening jobs, Coach Steene’s classes, and extra cavvara shil practice. The two of them got to the CSF early every day, and stayed on for an hour or more after work every evening, so Bensin could drill with the cavvarach. Coach kept working with him on his hand-switching technique and on how to avoid getting his arm battered without the shil to protect it. Bensin knew he was improving; he could feel the difference.

  “You’re doing great,” Coach told him as they headed home Friday night. “I think you’ll be fine tomorrow. Don’t get cocky, though. That’s always been Jayce’s problem. I know he hasn’t lost in a while, but back when I trained him, when he did lose, it was usually because he got overconfident. And that’s what’s going to bring him down in the Grand Imperial, too.”

  Jayce was still in, though, and unlike Bensin, he had won both his first-rung matches last Saturday. Bensin had lost track of whether Jayce or Mr. Brinks had been bragging about it more around the CSF this week.

  Red Arena was just a little less crowded on Saturday than it had been the first couple days of the tournament. Many spectators whose favorite athletes had been eliminated were no longer here, but the event was popular enough that there were still plenty of strangers eager to watch no matter who was fighting. Coach had told Bensin that tickets for the best seats sold out months ahead of time, even for the days where no one knew beforehand who would still be in.

  When they checked the schedule in the Competitors’ Cave, Bensin was relieved to see that he wasn’t against Jayce. Of course, he knew the organizers wouldn’t pair up athletes from the same training facility as long as there was anyone else still in, but he had an unreasoning dread that at some point he would end up fighting his nemesis anyway. And that would be the end of the tournament for Bensin.

  I have to stay in. I have to keep winning. I have to place.

  But he had better not focus on those thoughts. Right now he just had to concentrate on beating this morning’s opponent.

  And he did, floating through the fourth rung duel in his Zone, heedless of the gritty sand under his bare feet or the roaring crowds all around. The other boy was good, but his skills were no match for the hand-switching technique Coach had drilled into Bensin.

  The duel was over in three minutes, and Bensin threw his arms up in triumph, exulting in the resounding cheers from the stands around him. That was the awesome thing about large tournaments: there were more people there just to watch the action and celebrate whoever won, and fewer people there to cheer just for their friends or family members. Even slaves got almost equal applause at times like this.

  Jayce won his morning match as well. Big surprise. And after lunch, Bensin watched his rival win his second one. Jayce was both strong and fast, and every time he went strutting out onto the sand it was with a you don’t stand a chance against me air. And sure enough, no one had, at least so far.

  Bensin’s next turn came a few minutes later, and he went on to win in the fifth rung. “I’m on a roll!” he laughed as Coach high-fived him in the Cave afterward. “I wish I could fight again today. And again, and again!”

  Coach shook his head as he handed him the thermos. “This is a good place to stop. Remember what I said about getting cocky. You’re not invincible. You did great, but that doesn’t mean your next opponent couldn’t be tougher than any you’ve had yet. Tomorrow will be soon enough for your next victory.”

  Chapter Seventeen: Major Surgery

  Steene could seldom remember being so proud, except of course when he himself had placed in the Grand Imperial. Bensin had won match after match, a few easily, most by the skin of his teeth. The other CSF students had been eliminated one by one, until now, three weeks in, only Bensin and Jayce were still hanging on.

  He’s doing awesome. See? Being my slave has been a good thing for him, he informed his conscience.

  His conscience raised its eyebrows. Really. Then why do you have to try so hard to justify owning him?

  Steene knew the answer to that, but he refused to admit it. It’s a good thing, he insisted lamely.

  It was Saturday afternoon, and the quarterfinals had begun. The quarterfinals! Only two of Steene’s students had ever gotten this far in the Grand Imperial before in all his years as a coach. Steene himself had only made it to this point once. It was hard to believe it was really happening now.

  But it was. He stood at the mouth
of the Competitors’ Cave, watching as Bensin battled his second opponent of the day. The other boy was more muscular than Bensin and fought smoothly, in the way of one who owns his own cavvarach and has been practicing with it most of his life. But Bensin was in his Zone, whirling and kicking and striking with an effortless grace that had become almost a dance. As far as Steene could tell from here, not a single one of his opponent’s kicks or blows had struck flesh yet.

  “Come on,” he urged under his breath. “Finish it. Switch hands, throw him off, knock that custom-designed cavvarach out of his grip, and win your way into the semifinals. Do it now!”

  As though he had heard him, Bensin ducked low under the boy’s next high blow. Continuing the motion, he spun, switched hands, and leaped forward into the slash-and-kick disarm-and-disable move that Steene had spent so much time working on with him.

  “Yes. Yes!” Steene cheered as his student’s leg shot out low behind the boy’s knees, knocking him off balance. As his opponent started to stumble backward, Bensin swung his cavvarach, slashing up and to the left. He nearly succeeded in disarming him, but the boy was flailing his arms to keep his balance, and he took the blow on his wrist instead of his blade.

  The audience roared as Bensin’s opponent toppled backward onto the sand. In an instant Bensin was on him, struggling to pin his shoulders down.

  “Yes!” Steene exulted again as the commentator began the count.

  “No!” wailed a man who must have been the other guy’s coach, watching from a few yards away.

  On three, the bigger boy managed to free his shoulders and half roll over, and the counting stopped. The audience roared once more as the two boys wrestled in the sand. Then Bensin was on top and the counting started once more.

  The audience yelled the numbers along with the emcee, and when they reached five, the stands erupted in cheers. Bensin sprang to his feet and threw his arms up in triumph. Most of the spectators were on their feet too.

  Steene flung his arms around Bensin the moment he was within reach. “You did it! You made it to the semifinals! Congratulations!”

  Bensin was laughing with glee. “I can hardly believe it, Coach! I’m so excited!”

  “You should be. You did awesome! You’re one step away from making it as far as I ever did. And tomorrow you’re going all the way to the top.” Steene thrust the thermos at him. “Drink. Then you want to stay and watch some more or head home? I’ll give you the afternoon and evening off either way. Might as well rest up for the morning.”

  Bensin took a long draft, licking the fruit mixture off his lips as he handed the empty thermos back. He cast a glance out toward the ring, where the next two competitors were already ducking under the ropes. Steene could imagine what his student was thinking. Stay and watch the excitement or get some extra free time?

  “If we leave now, could I go hang out in my old neighborhood?”

  “Yeah, I don’t see why not. No basketball this time, though, okay? Or anything else that could possibly get you hurt. You twist your ankle before tomorrow, that’s it for your chances.”

  “I know, Coach. Don’t worry.”

  “All right. Then if you’re sure you want to leave, we’ll head out.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” Bensin unbuckled his shil and stripped off the padding. “It’s always fun to watch the other matches, but the only one I really cared about today was Jayce’s, and he went before me anyway. So I’d rather just have the free time.”

  As he put on his shoes, he added, “And if Jayce wins tomorrow, that’ll be his sixth time in a row. He’ll get the car his parents promised him.”

  “So? Sure, he wants that new car, but I bet he doesn’t want it as much as you want your twelve hundred imps.” Steene picked up the duffel bag and led the way toward the exit. “Twelve hundred! You’ll be rich! Think of what you could buy with all that. In fact, I do want you to think about it. Maybe even make a list. Because sometimes winning comes down to motivation, and whichever of you is more motivated might just come out with that gold trophy.”

  Yes, Steene had said almost the opposite a couple of months ago. But that was different. Bensin had the skills he needed; Steene was pretty sure they were at least equal to Jayce’s now. But Jayce still had the greater confidence, not to mention the motivation. A little extra motivation on Bensin’s part could only help.

  Steene glanced at his watch and then pulled out his phone as they emerged into the sunlight. “If we’re going back anyway, I might as well work the last part of the day. No point in leaving my classes with some sub who doesn’t really know what’s going on longer than I need to.” Besides, then I can make sure everyone at the CSF knows how awesome Bensin’s doing. “I’ll call Mr. Drogum and let him know I’ll be there for my last four classes.”

  Bensin was silent after Steene had made his call. As they continued weaving across the crowded parking lot to the truck, Steene glanced his way. The boy was staring at nothing, obviously deep in thought.

  “So?” he prompted as they got in. “I’m curious. What are you thinking of using all that money for?”

  Bensin didn’t reply right away. “Freedom,” he murmured finally, so quietly that Steene wasn’t sure he had heard him right.

  Steene glanced at him again. “Really?” He had never realized Bensin even thought about being free. The old guilt bubbled back up. But I treat him well, don’t I? Doesn’t he have a pretty good life with me? What’s so bad about this life that he wants to get out of it? The pro-slavery arguments he had heard so many times popped into his mind. He gets free room and board and medical care. All the tough decisions are made for him. He’ll never have to worry about looking for a job or getting laid off. Since he doesn’t have much education, it’s not like he’d have many other options out in the world anyway; if I freed him now he might very well starve on the streets or turn to a life of crime. He has no big expenses, no heavy responsibilities in life except following instructions and doing his best at what I tell him to do. What’s so bad about that?

  But Steene scowled as he jerked his seatbelt into place. He had disputed those very arguments more times than he could count — before he had bought a slave of his own, of course — and his conscience threw them back in his face now. Who wants a life where you aren’t free to make your own choices? Shouldn’t everyone have the right to pick their own career, their own path in life? Why should some people get to make their own decisions and learn from their own mistakes while others have to simply follow orders and live with their owners’ decisions and mistakes? They can’t vote or have any input on the system that controls their lives, and people look down on them and treat them as inferior just because they wear a piece of metal around their necks. Would you want a life like that?

  “Well, if you really want to save up and buy your freedom someday, that’s great,” he said in an attempt to shut his conscience up. “You can do it as soon as you’ve got enough to pay me back for what you cost in the first place plus the money I’ve invested in you since.”

  That was fair, right? More than fair, Steene told himself. Bensin’s value had certainly increased since he had started training him. He was giving the boy a good deal.

  Once again, Bensin didn’t reply right away. “Okay,” he said finally, but Steene got the impression his mind was somewhere else.

  Is he thinking about how unfair it is? “Serra was right about one thing,” he admitted, fitting the key into the ignition. “It’s true that I’ve always said slavery is unethical. And it is. The whole unfair system only exists because it’s convenient for those with the power. I mean, the empire’s economy would probably collapse if it weren’t for all the free labor that everyone’s been relying on for so long. And what better way to keep dissidents under control and crime levels down than to hold the threat of slavery over people’s heads? There are so many ways to justify it, but how those with power treat those without it — you know, the disabled, the elderly, the unborn, the slaves — says more about our society t
han any of the empire’s grand accomplishments.”

  Bensin was staring at him as though he had no idea what Steene was talking about.

  “Okay, I’ll get off my soapbox. But my point is, I never figured I’d own a slave, and to be honest, I’m not really sure why I bought you. I was going through a tough time and it seemed like the right moment for a big life change. But I still don’t believe slavery is right. So I guess I’m a hypocrite.”

  Bensin was still looking at him, puzzled. “Are you saying you’re sorry you bought me, Coach?”

  The truck seemed to jump as Steene put it into gear and pulled out of their parking space. “No. No, I’m not.” That was an easy question, in spite of the guilt. He liked Bensin. Work and prize money or not, the kid was fun to have around. Kids were always fun. Steene enjoyed teaching them, and he had often thought about what it would be like to have some of his own. He and Serra had tried for a while, but it hadn’t worked out, and they had never gotten around to looking into whether there was a medical reason. Then her job had really started to take off, and neither of them had much time for children at home anyway. But that had probably been for the best, he reflected, considering how their marriage had ended.

  And yet now there was a kid in his life after all. And slave or not, Steene had always tried to treat him well. Almost the way he would have treated his own son.

  Except that your son would go to school, his conscience pointed out. He wouldn’t have to help you out at your job and do yardwork for other people every day and hand over most of the money he earns. He would be able to choose what he wanted to do in his free time and whether or not to play a sport.