It was Isis who broke the silence.
“So... you put that fire out,” she stated.
Wren nodded.
“You have a speed gift... and like, a fire extinguishing gift?” she asked, looking at him curiously.
Wren sighed. Using the free hand that wasn’t still clenched tightly around Jere’s, he made a small ball of fire appear, balancing it on his hand like a juggling ball.
“Firesetting.” He swirled his hand a little, for a dramatic gesture, then closed it, extinguishing that one as easily as he had extinguished the one in the living room. “I can start it and stop it. Never stopped one that big before, though.”
Jere was glad that his heart was already racing, because that little display would have made it pound even more. He waited for Isis’s response.
She was quiet for far longer than Jere would have guessed that she would be, and he even felt the tiniest poke at him from her side of the mind connection. He was startled and undefended against it since she so rarely initiated anything of the sort.
“You knew!” she said, scowling at Jere.
Jere nodded. She had caught him.
“I can’t believe neither one of you told me,” she said, frowning. “Jerks.”
It was so out of place, and so typically Isis, that Jere couldn’t help but laugh. The revelation that Wren had a second gift, the fact that their lives had been threatened and the house almost burned down, the fact that police were on their way to the house—none of that really seemed to matter to Isis; at least, not nearly as much as the fact that both Wren and Jere had been misleading her. It was so ridiculous, and the fact that he was laughing at it made it even worse.
“What?” Isis asked, shrugging. “It’s really rude. You guys like... went out of your way to keep this a secret from me? For a year? That’s shitty. I get that you’re all older and saner and stuff, but only one of us is a trained spy, and it’s not either one of you. Trust me, I can keep secrets.”
“It’s really dangerous if this gets out,” Wren tried to explain. His face was as red as Jere assumed his own was, and Jere guessed that it was because he was equally ashamed of hiding things from the girl they both considered to be a part of their family.
“Well, yeah,” Isis said, shaking her head. “You’d be some sort of freak, like I was as a kid. They’d want you for special slave things, and being a special slave is never good.”
“Yeah. Pretty much,” Wren agreed. “That’s why we didn’t tell you at first. It was dangerous information; if it got out, it could really destroy me. We didn’t tell you, and then... we just kept not telling you.”
Jere looked at them both nervously. They definitely didn’t need any more conflict here, and they certainly didn’t need any more threats.
Isis raised an eyebrow at him. “What?” she asked. “Am I supposed to get all weirded out or something? You two are the best people ever, and I’m used to keeping secrets. I’m not going to tell anyone or anything.”
Jere breathed a sigh of relief. It was strange to be so indebted to the girl. It had always been the other way around. But somehow, this seemed acceptable.
“Thank you,” Wren said quietly.
Isis shrugged. “It makes sense, now, how you could sometimes heat things up so quickly. Like, if I was watching you boil water for tea, it would take like ten minutes, but if I was gone for a minute, it would be done when I came back. Makes a lot more sense than thinking I had just spaced out for a while, although, I do that a lot, too, so that’s not completely impossible. Makes sense why the stove wasn’t always hot, either.”
Wren nodded. “I thought I was being subtle about it, but I’ve been trying to use it more. I’ve grown careless. I didn’t realize it until they took me for the evaluation.”
“You could have told me about it and used it all the time,” Isis pointed out. “You guys didn’t trust me, though. Now you’ll see that you were just being dumb.”
“We appreciate it,” Jere admitted. “It could really destroy things.”
Isis shrugged. “I have no reason to want to destroy this. I like it here.”
Jere wondered why he had ever doubted Isis.
They waited nervously in the cellar until Jere felt the mental presence of someone upstairs, someone who identified himself as part of the police force. He instructed Isis and Wren to wait downstairs while he went up and gave his statement to the officer. He explained how his very loyal slave had risked his own safety putting the fire out. He showed the officer the singed blanket, explaining that Wren had used his speed gift and his own hands to beat the flames out.
“Can I see his injuries for documentation purposes?” the officer asked as he filled out some forms.
Jere paused. There weren’t injuries, because Wren had never really been in danger. The fire had moved aside for him as easily as pulling a curtain.
“I’m sorry. I healed him as soon as the fire was out. I’m a healer, and I mean, he deserved the reward...”
“Not a problem,” the officer assured him, documenting his statement. “In the future, you might want to have a complete record of it and get someone else to witness it for insurance reimbursement.”
Of course, that’s what people here would be worried about. Getting payment for the healing services of the slave that had saved their lives. “I... it’s not a big deal. It’s easier to heal fresh injuries.”
The officer nodded. “I guess you’d be the one who would know. Do you want surveillance on the property?”
Jere didn’t really want surveillance on the property so much as he knew it was necessary. “Yes, please,” he agreed, trying not to look too uncomfortable with the idea.
The officer laughed. “Don’t worry, we just send a slave out. Can’t waste important people, but the slave can sit out in the cold and watch, and let us know if anything happens. He can patch up your lawn, too. Looking like it is, you’re asking for more trouble. Keeps the peace if we clean up the vandalism.”
Having a police slave would be the perfect solution; the slave wouldn’t have the psychic abilities to eavesdrop on their mindspeak conversations, and would be too well-trained to eavesdrop physically. “Thank you.”
“Nobody will mess with the slave,” the officer assured him. “They wear our uniforms, like our dogs do, and penalties for harming police property are pretty severe. Chances are, someone is just trying to scare you, and they did a damn good job of it. It’s not a surprise, not with that slave law you’re promoting, and your threats to leave us hanging here.”
Jere squirmed. The officer was speaking conversationally, probably entirely unaware of how uncomfortable he was making Jere. “I suppose so. I just... I value healthcare, and I value my privacy as a slaveowner. Seems strange that people are so opposed to those things.”
The officer laughed. “People hate change, and they aren’t too fond of outlanders’ ideas. I don’t really care either way, but I’d rather have a good healer. And I can’t wait for this election to be over. People are getting way too excited about things, rioting and protesting in some cities. We don’t need that here.”
“I completely agree. I’m so sorry to bother you with this.”
“Just doing my job,” the officer replied. “We need to keep our doctor and clinic safe, right? Don’t know what it is about this place that attracts fire.”
The officer finished the details of his report, provided a copy of the report number for Jere to use when contacting his insurance company, and left with a smile.
Jere shuddered, waiting until the officer left and was replaced by a uniformed slave before calling Isis and Wren up.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jere asked. “I’m so glad nobody was hurt.”
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” Wren pointed out, a serious expression on his face. “We can’t do this without you. You can heal us if we get hurt. If you’re hurt... you can’t abandon us like that.”
Jere nodded, realizing just how important it was for him to be th
ere as their master. They needed him in ways that nobody else could stand in for.
“I think it’s good you were here,” Isis pointed out, giving Wren an admiring look. “That was pretty much the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Wren blushed. “I’ve never gotten that reaction to my gift. Ever. Even when I first found out about it, I was horrified. I was so different from everyone else I had ever met. Another slave at the training facility I was placed at found out and wanted me to burn the place down—even Jere was a little intimidated when he first found out.”
“I think it’s awesome,” Isis repeated, drawing a smile from both Wren and Jere. Jere was pleased to see someone appreciated Wren’s gift for the good it could do, not being afraid of it.
Having the police slave linger around their home was uncomfortable, but at least the slave would keep to his business. The slave was more symbolic than functional, but the attack had been symbolic. It made sense to respond similarly. It was worth it to maintain their safety. He just hoped that it would be enough until the SRA was voted on. He didn’t care if it passed or not, he just wanted to fade from the public eye.
Chapter 34
Voting Day
Just over a week after the house was attacked, the SRA went to a vote before the lawmakers. It was only one of a number of similar laws that were being proposed in addition to the elections, but the SRA was what everyone was talking about. From the looks of the crowd that had gathered outside of the city building, supporters of either side were evenly distributed; plenty were eager to see it pass for healthcare, human rights, or slaveowner privacy issues. The other half was still furious that such an atrocious bill had even been proposed, much less having the potential for passing the vote. Events and protests had been staged all day, and Jere and Wren found themselves wandering through the crowds, amazed and awed by the outcry. Jere had never seen this many people gathered in one place in Hojer, much less been in the middle of it.
“There are even people here from other towns,” Jere said, barely audible over the crowd.
“Other states,” Wren corrected, pointing to a few groups on the sidelines. Many held signs and banners indicating who they were, where they were from, and why they were attending.
It didn’t matter that this was an issue primarily for Arona; it was part of a nationwide sweep of similar attempts. People were both thrilled and offended by that idea.
Slaveowners and slaves alike were milling about; some were even demonstrating their gifts in an attempt to justify whichever side of the argument they were on. A free person with a gift of manipulating matter had staged a small demonstration, easily ripping up the ground below him and forming it into different shapes. He made holes in the ground spell out the phrase “LOGICAL HEALTHCARE,” rearranging the holes into the medical staff symbol just moments later. He gave Jere a nod when he walked by.
Jere was shocked by the outpouring of support. He knew that there were plenty of people who didn’t support slavery, or at least, didn’t support the brutal conditions of slavery that were acceptable in this state, but seeing it right in the center of Hojer was something else entirely.
“I almost feel like I’m back home,” he told Wren, too amazed and cautious to speak the words out loud.
Off to one side, Wysocka Enterprises had erected a massive display. Like the man who owned the company, it was professional and reserved. Free gifts and snacks were being handed out, each emblazoned with the simple marketing words: “Support Progress. Support President Clemente. Yes on SRA.” Mr. Wysocka had made his decision, putting his desire for prosperity above everything else. Jere smiled at him; as little as he cared for the man, his support would be important.
A surprising number of slaveowners were in attendance, bringing their slaves along with them as a matter of course. Plenty seemed to be in support of the SRA, and had their slaves holding signs with phrases like, “HUMAN DOCTORS FOR HUMAN BEINGS,” and “HERD IMMUNITY.” A few had even brought animals, cleverly decorated with signs reminding people that they were the ones who should see veterinarians, not slaves. One had even taken it to a comedy level, pinning a sign to her dog that said “NO on The Slavery Reform Act! Keep my vet too busy to neuter me!” Plenty of people walking by stopped to pet the dog, and the dog’s owner was quick to inform them of the benefits of the new SRA to their slaves, their pets, and to the general population.
A table with a sign identifying the group as the “New Veterinary Association” was nearby, offering free health scans for dogs. Jere recognized Hojer’s vet among the group, and realized that there must have been a split in the larger Veterinary Association. He read over some of their signs, pleased to realize that there were a number of vets voluntarily refusing to treat humans except in cases of emergency. They emphasized pride in their gifts and profession, and had a number of vets visiting from free states as well. The partnerships must have been quite lucrative.
Jere had always dismissed protests and lobbying as someone else’s problem, and he still wasn’t completely sure about how he felt about being involved so prominently. The gathering made him feel a little better about his role. These weren’t people complaining about idealistic notions or searching for some sort of utopia, they were all vested in rational goals with real reasoning behind them. The fact that Wren and Isis would be safer after the SRA was passed made it even better.
“I wish Kieran and Isis could see this!” Just for a moment, Jere could pretend that they really weren’t in Hojer at all.
Wren shook his head. “Isis would be having a thousand panic attacks, and Kieran would be overwhelmed with the emotion.”
It was true. Isis had actually laughed in Jere’s face when he asked if she wanted to go, reminding him that wearing a leash and collar and being around a whole big crowd of people were pretty much two of her least favorite things. Kieran was still in Sonova, dealing with things on that end and generally avoiding being associated with the SRA or Hojer. She was pleased with her involvement, but it didn’t make her hate Hojer any less, nor did it make the people of Hojer like her any more.
“Besides, it’s not all good.” Wren pointed to the other side, where some of the more ambitious opponents of the bill had gathered.
“What the fuck are they doing?” Jere asked, appalled.
From the looks of it, they were publicly brutalizing their slaves for no reason; a slap here, a kick there. One was pinned down by some sort of gift, naked and spread-eagle on the ground. A sign next to her read, “use me,” and Jere could only imagine what sorts of horrors the sign referred to.
“They’re exercising their rights,” Wren answered, seeming only slightly less disturbed than Jere by the scene.
In contrast to the well-worded and clearly prepared signs that the supporters of the bill and their slaves wore, the other side had quickly scrawled messages onto pieces of scrap paper, or, more often, onto the bare skin of their slaves. “Slaveowners need control,” was a popular one, as well as descriptions of offenses that the slaves had committed, everything from breaking property to disobeying orders. One had the word “runaway” scrawled across his chest, old scars from past whippings prominently displayed on his back. The scars were made more noticeable by the fact that they were lit up by some sort of gift. When the mistress clapped her hands, the soft blue light illuminating the scars grew brighter, causing the slave to writhe in agony. Jere had no idea what was causing it, and he had no desire to find out.
Suddenly, the fact that he was in Hojer, not in any place that he would ever willingly call home, was painfully obvious. There were law enforcement agents everywhere, but they did nothing more than observe. After all, those actions were perfectly legal.
Some of the more creative, or perhaps, less prepared people had gone a step further, carving the messages into their slaves’ skin, the shallow, bloodied gouges spelling out crude messages like “no on 3,” and “lacklers need control.” Jere was startled to see the derogatory term so prominently displayed, especially in a
context where so many people were out, including families with children.
The Human Veterinary Association, with Barrett at the head of it, was offering “free samples” of healing—clearing the canvas for new messages to be cut into the slaves’ skin.
“Why are they doing this?” Jere wondered aloud, still shocked by the sheer display of callousness and brutality. “They’re not making their case any better. They’re making it worse! They’re worse than animals, torturing slaves for fun. For fuck’s sakes, there’s kids here! They shouldn’t have to see this. I shouldn’t have to see this!”
Wren moved closer to him. They were still in public, so it wasn’t like they could really comfort one another, but the sheer physical closeness made him feel a little better.
“They’re acting out,” Wren replied. “Like naughty children, about to have their favorite toy taken away. They know it’s going to end, so they’re going to make damn sure that it needs to go. I don’t agree with it, either, but there’s nothing we can do.”
“Even after it passes, they’ll just get a fine or a sentence to go to a training class.” That was the agreement that had been written into the SRA. Offenders wouldn’t be penalized with jail time or severe fines; the focus was on re-education and rehabilitation. Jere thought it unfair that the same people who would beat their slave to a pulp for dropping a glass of water would get sent to a two-hour public safety course, but everyone who was more experienced with this sort of thing had assured him that this was the best course of action. It was the most likely to be enforced, and the least likely to go unapproved.
He and Wren continued to walk around, making an active effort to stay away from the more gruesome protests, chatting with supporters of the bill. Jere was their expert, the scientific professional who provided the emotion-free decision making and information based on research. They liked him, and they liked the way that he subtly protected Wren from everything, making sure to place himself between Wren and the angry protesters, shielding him from questions or comments that had the potential to go badly. He wasn’t clearly coming across as being in love with his slave, but he was demonstrating the ways in which slaveowners could protect their assets.
Inherent Cost Page 31
