broken and in denial before the drop. They would realize their sins and
repent, right before succumbing to the inevitable hand of justice. She
delighted in watching them pay, as if every one of them had committed their
crimes against her personally. Death sports—gladiators paid to put their lives
on the line—never amused her. No, it was the executions or nothing. She once
told me that she imagined them, dangling helplessly against the rope, willing
to trade anything they ever had, anything they ever could have, for a second
chance, but finding that no matter how much they wished, Ackerman’s wrath would
always win out. She loved justice.
The stadium was
packed with Alphas, most of whom paid as much as one hundred thousand caps a
head to watch live. Execution parties were common—Corbett had his own every
month (I usually paid him a few caps not to be insulted by my absence. Watching
people die was a bit like watching pornography, it never did strike me as a
group activity). My neighbor always had friends over to watch, too. We could
hear the cheering through the walls with the crack of each broken neck, and the
shouting of bets—like at a derby—when someone choked against the rope. We
hardly needed our own television.
Beatrice never
attended the parties either. She called them “debauched,” but really she just
became enraged when she saw people enjoying the show. Who were they to be as
offended by criminal behavior as she was?
“Running late?”
I asked.
“Yeah,” she
sighed, sending off another report. “Jennings is taking forever to call this
last guy.”
Susan Jennings.
Even I knew that name. Everyone knew that name. She was the greatest poker player in the world. Linus would never admit
it, but he idolized her. When she lost a game, he bragged about her genius,
throwing a couple matches a season to confuse competitors looking for tells or
an angle on her strategy. When she lost last year’s championship, he pronounced
it decisive proof of her brilliance—a gambit for dominating the league in years
to come.
What do you
feel, I wondered as I pulled out a few individually wrapped shots of whisky
from the fridge, when your execution is delayed because the previous show ran
long?
I downed my
first shot.
Suddenly Bea
jumped to her feet. “I almost forgot! Guess what I got you!” she said, handing
me a thin brown paper bag. “A colleague of mine recommended this. The reviews
were all glowing.”
Inside was a
pornographic magazine, a picture of a naked woman bent over a sawhorse, a man
with a whip behind her.
“Oh, my!” I
exclaimed. “Yes, that does look good.”
“All the men on
my floor say it’s the best. They’re always talking about it. Anyways, I don’t know how long it’s been… well, how long
since you… anyways, I thought you might enjoy this. I heard that they use real
leather whips.”
“No.”
“They do. And
this cost only cost five caps!”
“Five? Wow, that
is surprising. It’s higher quality than most stuff you’d find.”
“My colleagues
know what they’re talking about. I guess there are a few scenes of men with men
in there. I don’t know if that’s your thing. You can ignore those pages, or
give them a try, whatever you want. I can leave for a little while after the
show, give you some privacy.”
I nodded. “Very
thoughtful, thank you. Did you bill me for this?”
“It’s already on
your ledger.”
“Oh, thank you.
No, this is really nice, thanks. I’ll be sure to look it over after the show.”
I didn’t know
what else to say. If it really cost only five caps, then maybe it was a good
deal, even if it wasn’t a style or brand I liked. But in all the time I had
been married to Beatrice, “bargains” like this came along only after a fight,
or as a prelude to one.
She sat back
down. The whisky made me feel warm, and my mind began to wander.
No debt… His work record was fine. He’d
never have made Alpha, but that was true of most people.
repent, right before succumbing to the inevitable hand of justice. She
delighted in watching them pay, as if every one of them had committed their
crimes against her personally. Death sports—gladiators paid to put their lives
on the line—never amused her. No, it was the executions or nothing. She once
told me that she imagined them, dangling helplessly against the rope, willing
to trade anything they ever had, anything they ever could have, for a second
chance, but finding that no matter how much they wished, Ackerman’s wrath would
always win out. She loved justice.
The stadium was
packed with Alphas, most of whom paid as much as one hundred thousand caps a
head to watch live. Execution parties were common—Corbett had his own every
month (I usually paid him a few caps not to be insulted by my absence. Watching
people die was a bit like watching pornography, it never did strike me as a
group activity). My neighbor always had friends over to watch, too. We could
hear the cheering through the walls with the crack of each broken neck, and the
shouting of bets—like at a derby—when someone choked against the rope. We
hardly needed our own television.
Beatrice never
attended the parties either. She called them “debauched,” but really she just
became enraged when she saw people enjoying the show. Who were they to be as
offended by criminal behavior as she was?
“Running late?”
I asked.
“Yeah,” she
sighed, sending off another report. “Jennings is taking forever to call this
last guy.”
Susan Jennings.
Even I knew that name. Everyone knew that name. She was the greatest poker player in the world. Linus would never admit
it, but he idolized her. When she lost a game, he bragged about her genius,
throwing a couple matches a season to confuse competitors looking for tells or
an angle on her strategy. When she lost last year’s championship, he pronounced
it decisive proof of her brilliance—a gambit for dominating the league in years
to come.
What do you
feel, I wondered as I pulled out a few individually wrapped shots of whisky
from the fridge, when your execution is delayed because the previous show ran
long?
I downed my
first shot.
Suddenly Bea
jumped to her feet. “I almost forgot! Guess what I got you!” she said, handing
me a thin brown paper bag. “A colleague of mine recommended this. The reviews
were all glowing.”
Inside was a
pornographic magazine, a picture of a naked woman bent over a sawhorse, a man
with a whip behind her.
“Oh, my!” I
exclaimed. “Yes, that does look good.”
“All the men on
my floor say it’s the best. They’re always talking about it. Anyways, I don’t know how long it’s been… well, how long
since you… anyways, I thought you might enjoy this. I heard that they use real
leather whips.”
“No.”
“They do. And
this cost only cost five caps!”
“Five? Wow, that
is surprising. It’s higher quality than most stuff you’d find.”
“My colleagues
know what they’re talking about. I guess there are a few scenes of men with men
in there. I don’t know if that’s your thing. You can ignore those pages, or
give them a try, whatever you want. I can leave for a little while after the
show, give you some privacy.”
I nodded. “Very
thoughtful, thank you. Did you bill me for this?”
“It’s already on
your ledger.”
“Oh, thank you.
No, this is really nice, thanks. I’ll be sure to look it over after the show.”
I didn’t know
what else to say. If it really cost only five caps, then maybe it was a good
deal, even if it wasn’t a style or brand I liked. But in all the time I had
been married to Beatrice, “bargains” like this came along only after a fight,
or as a prelude to one.
She sat back
down. The whisky made me feel warm, and my mind began to wander.
No debt… His work record was fine. He’d
never have made Alpha, but that was true of most people.
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