Two Weeks Later
I sat at the long side of the big dining room table, with Dad at one end and Andrew at the other end. It was amusing: Dad, apparently, had taken to heart that thing he'd read in a magazine a few months ago, about having family dinners now and then to "solidify relationships." Like a little hearty dinner talk every Sunday would make up for years of benign indifference.
Waldo carried in a steaming platter of prime rib from the kitchen. "Yum." I speared a piece of medium and added it to the brocooli and other sides on my plate.
Andrew and Father were in a conversation over some details of Dad's business. Andrew was going to take a management-trainee job with Cameron Industries next year. I wondered whether Andrew's seemingly inexhaustible supply of wild oats would be used up by then. While they talked, I took some salad from the bowl, ignoring the potatoes. I'd been avoiding starches, among various other classes of foods.
Andrew said, "Wynn and I went ahead and got those genetic tests Friday, Dad.."
Hey, wait! I didn't know that Andrew had gone in for testing, too. I started to ask him about it, but stopped when I saw the look on Father's face. Dad was positively beaming.
I started to ask him about it, but stopped when I saw the look on Father's face. He was positively beaming. He pounded a fist on the table. "That's great! That's great! I'm really glad you two have worked out your differences. I've been noticing it in the last month or so, but this really tops it off. Marriage is a wonderful thing. It'll be nice to see the family start growing. "
I looked quickly back and forth between Andrew and Father, confused. What the hell was Dad talking about?
What the hell was Dad talking about? Then it all came clear in my mind, the way it all connected together. I nearly inhaled the lettuce I'd been about to swallow. I coughed in a panic, choking. Waldo came behind me, hitting my back. "Heimlich, sir?"
I finally coughed the lettuce out, and held up my hand, and rasped, "Sorry, I'm okay, I'm okay." The others were looking at me — Andrew had that smirk again, now that he saw I was safe. I coughed again. "Really, I'm all right. It's over."
That was why Andrew was so hot on the idea of me getting tested. Somehow I'd missed the obvious. Why hadn't I been sufficiently suspicious to begin with? Sure, a lot of people had the testing, for some good reasons that didn't apply to me. It's all just a voluntary thing. It's just for information, to eliminate some worries. The only people who were required to have it...
The genetic tests were only required when siblings planned to have children. It ensured that they weren't both carrying a recessive genetic defect that would show up in the babies.
I tried to clear my head, while Andrew and Dad resumed their conversation. Andrew had gone back to asking about Dad's business, aiming the tiniest smile in my direction, daring me to bring the conversation back to its previous subject.
Andrew's been telling Dad we might get married and start a family together — and now Dad thinks I've agreed to it! I've got to straighten this out!
I opened my mouth to speak, and stopped myself just in time. The conversation would be difficult to complete without mentioning my Academy plans — and if I didn't, Andrew probably would, especially if I was wrecking whatever scheme Andrew had cooked up. Maybe he wouldn't, but I couldn't take the chance. And Andrew knew that. That was what the little smile was about. He'd wanted to taunt me by talking to Dad about the match right in front of me, knowing how Dad would react, and knowing I couldn't afford to say anything to contradict Dad's current impression.
I should have seen the signs. Ever since that day, when I came home from the mall following my major makeover, and Andrew, for the first time in his life, had looked like he had the hots for me... I squeezed my eyes closed. The way he looks at me in my room from the hallway sometimes, so I started closing my door more often. The way...
Oh no! I almost groaned out loud, remembering another thing I'd been ignoring.
"Dad, I, uhh... Well, I'd feel better if I could lay down for awhile."
He gave me an understanding look. "Of course, sweetheart. Will you be back down for dessert?"
"I'll... uhh, I'll try. Sorry to wreck dinner."
Dad held up his hands. "Don't even think about it. We're just glad you're okay. Come back down if you feel like it."
I nodded, turned and forced myself to walk slowly from the room. When I reached the stairs, I took them two at a time, trying to be quiet so they wouldn't know how panicked I felt. I checked my computer, and sure enough, there was a notification from the site that they'd found me a match, with a picture and biography for Andrew. Yecch!
I tiptoed down the hall to Andrew's room, and tried to calm my heart. I just had to check one thing, and it would only take a few seconds.
Years ago, when Andrew had been — oh, fifteen or so, I'd started hearing strange noises from his room — odd, breathless grunts, really. I'd laughed when kids at school had explained it to me. Exploring his room later, I'd discovered, under his bed just out of sight, a magazine, turned to a picture of a naked bunny-girl with such a clear "Come here, I want you" look on her face it may as well have been written there in visible letters. The next day, my twelve-year-old classmates and I had giggled over the idea and pretended to stick our fingers down our throats.
Andrew never found out I'd discovered his secret vice, and he had stopped doing it several years ago, when his fantasy anthros had been replaced with any number of real ones. Suddenly, lately, very quietly so that only ears that were familiar with the sound could have picked it up, Andrew had started doing it again.
It's probably in that same place. Old habits.
I got on my knees, reached under the bed, and closed my fingers on a single sheet of paper. I turned it right side up and looked at it, and felt a sudden violent chill as I focused on the image on the page. It was essentially what I had suspected. Only worse. A lot worse.
It was a picture of me, as I'd anticipated. Andrew had taken this picture me and others, just last week at high school graduation. In several shots I was beaming at the camera in my cap and gown. Andrew had suggested I take off the regalia and drape it over my arm.
I'd been fully dressed under the gown. I was going to be at a party with some of the guys from school that evening to celebrate, and had worn my favorite muscle shirt and skin-tight slacks. Nobody could tell how much informality the gown was covering, and I didn't want to bother changing outfits before I went to the party. I was grinning at the camera, so happy that day I didn't care who was holding it. That was the picture I was holding in my hands now.
The knowledge that Andrew had been masturbating to a picture of me was bad enough. But he'd done a little digital manipulation to the image before printing it.
In the picture, I was wearing a slave collar. Marriage was not an accurate description of what Andrew had in mind.
I had no idea how long I'd been standing there, holding the picture. I heard a noise and whirled around. Andrew was standing in the doorway, glaring at me.
If he'd expected me to fly into a guilty panic at being found in his room, he was profoundly disappointed. In a tight, raspy whisper that owed nothing to my earlier choking, I said slowly, "Close — the — door!"
Andrew looked so surprised at my reaction that he actually began to back into the hallway. I shot him an exasperated look, my teeth clenched. "No, you ass! Close it behind you! Close it with you in here!"
Andrew seemed to be recovering some of his characteristic disdain during the time it took to follow my order. The smirk was nearly back. "Found what you were looking for, I see."
I took a couple of deep breaths, and spat out the words through a tight jaw. "Andrew, there is no way I'd marry you, and I'm sure as hell not going to be your slave!" I shook the picture at him.
Andrew held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Fine, fine, just keep it down, okay?"
In a slightly lower voice, I said, "Okay, I'll keep it down, but only because I've got my own reasons. I don't give a shit what you want."
He raised his eyebrows. "Is that what I get for offering to help you?"
"Help me?? How??"
"Will you let me talk?"
I stared at him, as if daring him to make a move and risk getting his arm torn off. "Go on."
Patiently, but as if he had to feel his way along that unfamiliar virtue, he started, "Look, I want the same thing you do. I'm probably just better at thinking out the what-ifs than you are." He stopped, waiting for an interruption. I just kept glaring at him, so he continued.
"Nothing's changed... Wynn. I do want you to go to the Academy. And you know why."
Cautiously I said, "Well, of course. The money."
He nodded. "Duh. There's no reason to lie about that."
"Like you lied about why you wanted me to register for a match?"
He grinned and shrugged. "Would you have done it if I'd told you why?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, there you go. I had a reason to lie. I don't have one for saying I want you at the Academy. It's obviously in my interest."
I threw up my hands. "Then what the hell is this all about? Why do you want Dad to think we're getting married?"
"I told you. I'm thinking about what-ifs, before it's too late. I swear I won't say a word to dad about the Academy, and when you tell him I'll support you. But what does happen if you don't get in?"
"I will get in."
"Wynn, get a grip for just a minute. All the guys who apply think they're getting in. A lot of them don't. Most of them don't. Then what? What happens when you get that rejection? Go running to that guy, what's his name, Scott? The guy you met at the mall? Get a little comfort from him? Get married to him?"
I sighed, exasperated. "I've been with him like three times. It's just for fun. He knows we're not getting married because of..." I stopped, blinking.
Andrew grinned. "Because of the Academy? Try to keep up, Wynn. We're tripping through the what-if world now."
"Okay, I don't know, I don't know. I don't have my whole life planned out."
"You think you do, but only if things go your way. Will you admit you might get married? I know you want to get away from here. And I know with your money you can stand out among all the other subs looking for husbands. That and..." He looked at the picture still in my hand, and snickered. "Okay, I admit I think you look a lot cuter lately. Since you're holding the evidence. See, look, I'm being totally honest with you now."
I'd forgotten the picture for the moment. I looked at it again, and winced at the thought of how Andrew had been using it. "So you're saying this..." I waved it at him, "...isn't your first choice? You'd still rather see me go to the Academy than get me in a collar?"
Andrew snorted. "Hey, I never bagged the babe in the magazine either. I'll live."
So he had known I'd found that. I pushed the thought aside. "Then I still don't get it. What's the charade with Dad about me marrying you all about?"
He shook his head. "I didn't say it's a charade. It's the alternative."
"What??" I didn't need to think about keeping my voice down this time. It came out as a hoarse croak.
"Look." His veneer of patience was starting to decay around the edges. "What I'd really want most is have you as a slave. But you know how Dad is about that. He thinks an anthro should parent children before he goes the full slave route. So slavery is not going to happen, not until you have kids, and if you have them with someone else, I'm screwed. I want you to be a slave, one way or another, because then your fate is out of his hands and all the money is in mine. If it's the Academy, then that's simpler for me. I don't have to take care of you, and convince dad I'm treating you well, I'm more free to keep doing what I've been doing, et cetera, et cetera. But if you don't get in the Academy, I can't take a chance on what you might do instead. I don't want you taking Dad's money with you to give to the first guy who wants to marry you. Now Dad thinks that's going to be me. You saw Dad tonight. He loves the idea. You going to disappoint him?"
I looked at him sideways. "He's thinking of a more traditional marriage, isn't he? That I'd be your sub, but not your slave. Right?" I couldn't believe I could calmly discuss either possibility. I was just looking for a wedge to break the whole idea apart.
"For now, yeah. That's why I want you to volunteer to be my slave. He'll be fine with it, if it's your idea."
I clenched my hands into fists, crumpling one corner of the picture. "Are you crazy??"
He glared at me. "Let me say this all really slow. I've said I'll help you with Dad about going to the Academy. And I will. But I want something in return."
I knew something like this must be coming. But something still wasn't making sense. "I thought me getting into the Academy was its own reward, for you. Why do you need something else?"
He sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Why are you so..." He stopped, seeming to remember his promise to avoid insulting me gratuitously. He took a deep breath. "I do want that. As much as you do, maybe more. But you probably won't get it. If I can't get some guarantee that I'll come out okay if that happens, I need to look for other options. I've got another one, but you wouldn't like it. I don't like it either, but I'll do it if I have to."
I stared at him, my stomach twisting in knots. "Wh-what are you talking about?"
He met my stare, his eyes boring in on mine. "I've got names of some people. If they go into action, you'll feel the sting of a sleep dart, somewhere, sometime in the next few days. By the time you wake up, you'll already have been through the surgery to convert you to a puppyboy. After that you'll be sold to one of these people's clients. Most likely somebody who likes to break and train unwilling puppies — see, there's a reason why these owners don't go through regular petboy channels. After a few years missing, you'll be declared legally dead. See, one way or another I'm going to be Dad's sole heir."
I shook my head slowly, my mouth open. In a stunned voice, I said, "You'd never do that to me. Not even you could do that."
He shrugged. "I don't want to. I'd have to pay for the conversion surgery myself, and the rest of these guys'... services. I'd really rather have you in the Academy or else here as my slave. Either of those would be free. But I'll do it, I'll spend the money, if I don't get a guarantee some outsider won't end up with half of Dad's fortune." He grinned unexpectedly. "Isn't it weird? There are three different things that can happen to you, and I think your order of preference is exactly the same as mine, even if it's for different reasons. Who would have thought?"
I struggled to maintain control. I hadn't lost the Academy. Andrew wanted me there. He'd even help. But the alternatives... I cleared my throat. "So what kind of... guarantee are you talking about?" Great, I thought. I said it without my voice trembling.
Andrew reached over to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. "Tomorrow we can take this to a lawyer, and get it signed and witnessed. Look it over now, see what you think."
I dropped the picture of myself on his bed, and reached for the paper. I read the document slowly, concentrating on every word. "I, Wynn Cameron, being of the age of consent for voluntary slavery, do offer myself as a slave to Andrew Cameron, the offer taking effect if I fail to be admitted as a student to the Hanging Academy. Done this sixteenth day of June..." There were spaces underneath for my signature, Andrew's, and those of two witnesses.
I tried to breathe calmly. Playing for time to think of an out, I asked a question that had been bothering me, "Just how did you get that site to make a match between us?"
Andrew shrugged, a smile twisting the corners of his lips upward. "Simple. I paid off some people who work for the site."
I stood looking at the contract for several minutes, silently. There had to be a way out of this. "Could I look into other slavery options? That'd work okay for you, right?"
Andrew shook his head. "Outside my control? With somebody you choose, who might decide to set you free later? Uh-uh."
"Can't I... Can't I just tell Dad I don't want any of his money? I'll just make it on my own?"
Again, Andrew shook his head, his smile growing wider. "That's not your call. You know that. Dad wouldn't just say, 'Okay, I'll cut you off without a penny,' just because you asked him to. And what happens if you get in trouble later and change your mind?"
There had to be something I could do. Marshall would have found a way out of this, I felt sure. I knew I couldn't tell Dad, not now. The time wasn't right for him to find out about the Academy. If I was finding, now, that I didn't know Andrew as well as I'd thought, I still knew Dad. His inevitable opposition at this point would kill my dream
I closed my eyes and sighed. He'd thought of everything.
Maybe I could salvage one thing. "While I'm waiting to hear from the Academy... no sex, okay? No kissing, no displays, especially in front of Dad. And Waldo is always here, and he'd probably pass it on. I want Dad to think it's more natural when I tell him I'm going to the Academy instead of marrying you. Like... the relationship just wasn't working out, and my heart was always really set on the Academy. See what I mean?"
Andrew bit his lip. His eyes wandered down to the picture lying crumpled on his bed, and over me, roaming up and down my body. He obviously didn't want to give in on the point, but I actually was making sense. At last he said, "Okay. I'll wait on that." His skepticism about my chances of Academy admission finally worked in my favor — he obviously felt sure he'd have me eventually.
Marginally relieved, but realizing that there was no more ground I could recover, I clenched my teeth, stifled a moan and, "Okay, I'll sign the thing tomorrow." It came out a lot raspier than I wanted. And before then maybe I could come up with a way out of it.
Andrew grinned broadly and opened the bedroom door for me. He looked down at the picture on his bed again. "You've kind of mangled my picture. Don't worry, I'll print out another."
"I'm sure," I muttered. I trudged down the hall to my own room.
I knelt on my own bed, alone at last, communing with Marshall's head as I did so often. Stroking Marshall's hair gently with my fingers. "I controlled him a little, on the sex thing, but that isn't enough. He won too much. I'll learn, okay?" I sighed deeply. "It won't matter. I'm still going to the Academy. You'll be proud of me." I kissed Marshall's lips and dropped down to lay on my bed, my fingers laced behind my head. I cleared all thoughts of Andrew from my head, and went over my mental checklist in preparation for my interview, now just three days away. After fifteen minutes I sat up, reached up to my headboard, picked up a video disk whose cover showed a doe and stag locked in a tight embrace, titled "How To Make Love To A Female," and slid it into my player. I had another disk covering male/male sex: I knew that some of my customers at Academy parties would be females. As the disk began playing, I picked up a pen and pad to take notes. I wanted to have some new things to try the next time I hooked up with a female at the club downtown.
In the morning I took my computer to a shop that specialized in checking for spyware. All the way across town — Andrew might have bought off the closest one or two. I paid for rush service and had them check the software and hardware, including the keyboard and cables, for keytrackers, rootkits, anything Andrew might have installed to find out my answers and make his match. They didn't find anything. Guess he was telling the truth about bribing people at the site.