Five Years Later
Tina pressed the intercom button on her phone. "Kelly Sadler is here for his interview, sir."
Kelly took a deep breath as he heard the Dean's voice say, "Thank you, Tina. Send him in, please." All these years preparing, ran the thought through Kelly's mind. It all comes down to this. No!, another voice insisted. This is just a stepping stone. It's all aimed at my hanging. He directed a smile he hoped looked confident at Tina, who smiled back and said, "You can go in."
Kelly pushed the door open, and saw the Dean rise behind his desk, smiling, offering his hand. As he shook hands with him, he vaguely felt he had met him before. He knew where and when it would have been, but couldn't recall for certain. He sat in the chair in front of the desk, and said, as the Dean resumed his seat, "Did we meet before, Sir?"
The Dean smiled again. "Indeed we did, at your brother's hanging."
He had long since decided that honesty was his only option. "I really don't remember much about that day, Sir, other than Maverick's hanging. I relive that every night before I go to sleep, but everything else from that day is kind of a blur."
The Dean chuckled. "I've run into that phenomenon before. A lot of our students are here because a particular hanging served as their inspiration. Including Maverick himself."
Kelly nodded. "Yes, Sir. That would be my Uncle Seymour. He died before I was born, except he lived on in Maverick. My dad told me more about him after Maverick's hanging."
The Dean nodded. "Now, I often start an interview by asking the prospective student why he wants to be at the Academy. I think we've covered that ground already..."
Thirty Minutes Later
The Dean sat once more. "Thank you, Kelly. You can put your clothes back on now."
"Yes, Sir." He stood again and reached for his boxers, still horny from the choking test the Dean had just given him. He was also sure that the Dean had liked his body. He had always been self-confident about it, but there was still a certain tension in knowing he needed to impress this one person. He had spent years in an exercise program to make his body look like Maverick's, as much as he could remember. That, he decided, had paid off.
Fully dressed once more, he resumed his seat, as the Dean asked, "Now, do you have any questions you wanted to ask me?"
He nodded. "I did have one, Sir. At a lot of colleges, they have a policy that students can test out of certain courses, and get credit for them, by proving they already know the material. Is it possible to do anything like that here?"
The Dean began his automatic answer, but stopped suddenly, almost made dizzy by an intense deja vu. An instant later the memory returned, of Kelly's brother, looking so much like him, asking essentially the same question — not in the interview, but during the orientation session for new students. They really are very much alike, he thought, and not just visually.
Dean Porter looked at Kelly thoughtfully. Years of practice behind him, and obviously ready to be a Hanging Boy in so many ways — he'd rarely read quite the level of arousal he'd seen in him during the choking test — but also a little aloof. Again, so much like his brother. At present, not yet ready to connect with a hanging audience. Of course, he didn't have to be ready now.
The Dean quickly matched up the observation with another recollection, one that was never far from his mind during any interview. A memory of the very last thing Wynn had requested of him, years ago.
Sometime, Wynn had said, you'll get another applicant like Maverick. Technically perfect, unlimited potential. You'll feel positive you want him as a student. But he's sort of deficient in social skills, maybe. When that happens... get him together with someone like me.
Dean Porter pulled open a desk drawer, then realized he still hadn't answered Kelly. "Oh... No, we don't do anything like that. In any class where you've mastered the material, your contributions to classroom discussions can be invaluable assistance for other students." He located the file he'd been looking for and opened it. He tore a blank sheet off a small notepad and began copying some information from the file.
Disappointed, Kelly responded, "Yes, Sir," and watched him curiously. He seemed distracted. "Sir?"
The Dean finished writing and, to Kelly's surprise, handed him the note. "This is another one of our applicants for the next entering class. I'd like you to contact him in the near future, meet with him, and get to know him." He smiled, seeing a need to reassure Kelly. "I think a mutual acquaintance would be valuable to both of you." He chuckled again. "And don't read an offer of admission into this. We still won't decide on that for some time yet."
Kelly frowned as he looked over the note. A name, an address, a phone number. Maybe they always do this — match up boys in pairs before admission. Maybe they do roommate choices this way? But what if one of us gets in and the other doesn't? Is my admission contingent on contacting this boy? Does that make sense? It's probably not a big deal. He must see us as the two major incoming powers. He wants us to be friendly. That makes sense. "Yes, Sir." He politely put the note in his pocket. I don't need anybody else,. If the Dean wants me to meet him, I'll do that, and see what I have to work against.
The Dean leaned forward and pushed a button on his phone. "Tina, send Runner in, please." He stood and once more offered his hand to Kelly. "Thank you, Kelly. As you probably know, we'll be sending out admission letters in mid-August."
Kelly stood and shook hands with him again, and nodded. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
The door opened, and a student entered, wearing a Second Year uniform.
Kelly looked, and his eyes shot open wide. Not that he'd ever met this boy before. He was positive he would remember that, even if it had been at Maverick's hanging. Kelly himself was accustomed to instantly attracting every eye in any room he entered. I'd have some pretty stiff competition, if this boy was there too. The light brown, almost golden fur, the perfect face with large brown eyes, the blonde headfur flowing like a flaxen waterfall. So exotic, so obviously from Somewhere Else. Kelly hadn't realized the scope of the Academy's outreach program.
And that body...!
Kelly caught himself wondering what it would be like to be in bed with this boy. Does he know sex tricks I've never heard of? Has he been teaching them to the other boys? He felt the residual tingles from his choking test intensify.
Kelly took a breath. I must get hold of myself. Fine, he's a stunning, sexually magnetic boy. I've been able to hold my own in that department. And there's no way he arrived here better than I am at hanging. Nobody is. I'll beat anything he can do.
His eyes fell on the boy's metal collar. "Runner — Property of the Hanging Academy." Okay, he thought, I did hear the name correctly.
The boy smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Runner. The Dean asked me to show you around, if you want."
Kelly shook hands with him, and gave him a small smile. Don't act impressed. "Sure. I'm Kelly Sadler."
Runner's grin spread wider. "I would have known that, even if the Dean hadn't told me. You look so much like your brother."
Kelly blinked. "You couldn't... Oh, his head is here, isn't it? You would have seen that."
"Well, yes. But I feel like I know him better than from just seeing his head, and I can see a lot of him in you. Wynn told me all about him. Even a little about you, too. I just couldn't wait to meet you..."
It took Runner's words a moment to register, before Kelly sucked in a deep gasp. "You knew Wynn?? Wait, there's no way! He must have been hanged five years ago!"
Runner laughed. "I've been here awhile. It's a long story. Do you want to see your brother?"
Kelly blurted, "Sure!" Then forced himself to calm down. He worked to slow his breathing. Never let anybody think they have power over you. He cleared his throat, and said more softly, "I'd like that."
Kelly jumped slightly when the Dean spoke. He'd almost forgotten the leopard was there. "Runner, here's his file, if you want to take a look at it." He handed Runner the folder he'd had in front of him through the interview, the one Kelly knew to be his — not the other one the Dean had drawn from a drawer near the end.
"Thank you, Sir." Runner opened the folder, and his fingers flipped through the three pages in a few seconds. Kelly frowned at the boy's rudeness. If the Dean was going to let him see a file, the least he could do was actually read it. Especially if the subject of the file was standing in front of him.
Runner looked at the Dean. "Is that all, Sir?"
He nodded, and chuckled. "Don't let him break anything."
Runner gave him a mock-serious look. "I'll cover the cost of any damage." As the Dean laughed and waved in dismissal, he said to Kelly, "He's just kidding, really. He's not really worried about you breaking stuff.
Kelly blinked and shook his head slightly as he followed Runner through the outer office. Walking down the hallway, Runner said conversationally, "I see you've read Tannin's book on breath control. That's a good one. We've got more comprehensive studies here in our library, but that's a good beginning."
Kelly frowned. "How did..." Then he remembered the bibliography he'd included in his application. "So you already read my file earlier?"
"Hmm? Oh, no. Just now. Anyway, most boys don't have the kind of reading background you've got when they first come here, so you have a head start."
Kelly looked back toward the door of the Dean's office and replayed Runner's quick glance at the file in his head. How the hell did he do that? Did he read all of it? To get back to the question foremost in his mind, he said, "You said you knew Wynn? We're talking about Maverick's roommate?"
Runner gave him a softer smile than he'd seen so far. "Right. We were... wait, let me show you this." He stopped walking and, from a pocket in his uniform shorts, he extracted a photograph, encased in tough protective plastic. He handed it to Kelly.
Kelly stared at the picture. Yes, that was Wynn, all right, just the way Kelly remembered him, except for having much shorter hair. And there was Runner himself, looking several years younger than he did now, sitting on the ground at Wynn's feet, looking up at the camera while holding one of Wynn's legs lovingly. Runner and the two boys flanking Wynn were all inexplicably naked, while Wynn was clothed.
Runner was looking over Kelly's shoulder, and pointed. "That's Zuchter, who developed most of the bound-feet hanging choreography we use now. And this is Marcus, and you've got something in common with him — his older brother graduated from here too. That was Marshall. Marshall was Wynn's inspiration to be a Hanging Boy. Like Wynn was mine. And Maverick was yours."
Kelly coughed, trying to collect his thoughts, stunned at how much Runner knew about him. Looking again at the picture, he said, "You guys were all really close."
Runner nodded, and appeared to brush a tear aside. "Very." He took the picture back, and began walking again. "Another advantage you have is that you've spent a lot of time getting sexual experience. Some of the boys' background in that is a little iffy, when they first get here. We do teach them a lot here, of course, so pretty soon they get caught up. But you've already spent a lot of time at the local hook-up clubs."
Kelly coughed again. Another item of information Runner had apparently taken in during his glance at Kelly's file. "Uhhh, yeah. That, and my Dad recently started letting me spend a couple of nights a week with our slaveboy. Maxwell taught me a lot about sex with males, and gave me some good pointers about femmes."
Runner looked at Kelly. "That does sound helpful. Still, there's nothing like really meeting femmes at the clubs..." He stopped suddenly, and looked more closely at Kelly's face. "You did go to the mixed clubs a couple of times, but mostly you went to the all-male. You like sex with males a lot better."
Kelly stopped walking and stared at Runner. There was nothing about that in his file. "How did you..." Further words failed him.
Runner patted his shoulder. "You'll learn to read body language here too. And don't worry about what I said about femmes. You do have some experience, and you'll get more here. We don't assume any of the boys is an expert."
Kelly looked at him, puzzled. Runner kept saying "we" in reference to teaching. "Aren't you one of the students, not a teacher?"
"Well, both. I'm taking Second Year classes, but I'm also one of the First Year teachers. You'll probably be in one of my classes."
Kelly felt himself being enveloped by a cloud of awe. This boy can't be just an average student. No way are they all like this. He hoped his next question wouldn't cause offense. "Why are you... well, just a Second Year? If you've been here five years?"
Runner laughed, to Kelly's relief, and started walking again. "Now we're back to that long story. I'll tell you all about it sometime, if I get the chance. The short version starts with the fact I grew up on Purity Island. You know where that is?"
"Ummm... yes. But I thought..."
Runner smiled, with an air of explaining something for the thousandth time. "Yes, yes. But there were natives there when it was discovered. I sucked up all their genes when I was born, somehow."
How many surprises is this boy going to come up with? "I believe you when you say it's a long story."
Runner laughed again. "Really. Anyway, I couldn't even read when I came here. I spent two years studying for my high school equivalence test, and then the Dean let me spend a year taking classes at the university. Internet, I mean, not in person. I got my two-year degree, and then finally started as a student here."
"Didn't you say you did the university stuff for one year?"
Runner nodded. "They call it a two-year degree, but they don't literally make you spend two years. It's all a matter of finishing a certain number of courses. Oh, there was a bonus, too. The university sent some people here to make sure I really was doing the work I claimed to be doing, and one thing led to another, and I ended up in contact with Dr. Devor at the university, who was interested in doing research on Hanging Boys. So we're working together on a project to see if we can figure out which is more important to making an anthro a Hanging Boy, genetics or environment. I mean, is there a gene for it, or is there something about the atmosphere of the home? My roommate is Miles Warren. He's the youngest of five brothers who've all been Hanging Boys — including Marcus, who you just saw in that picture, and his older brother Marshall. After Marcus came Magnus and Mason, and now there's Miles. Mason was just hanged a few months ago, so there's just Miles left. Now, the question is, why did they all become Hanging Boys? Is it because they all shared some kind of Hanging Boy gene, or is it because they all grew up together? I'll want to talk to you, too, because I know your brother and your uncle were both Hanging Boys."
Kelly nodded. "I never knew my Uncle Seymour, though. He was hanged before I was born. So it's not like being around him affected me. And the truth is I never paid much attention to what Maverick was doing either."
Runner's eyes lit up. "See, that's useful. Anyway, I'll want to talk to you more about it. And so will Dr. Devor, if that's okay. We're leaning toward it being genetic, because I had absolutely no Hanging Boys to emulate growing up."
There was a quickly-approaching pounding sound from around a corner up ahead, and an excited bark. Kelly, was startled; he wouldn't have guessed there were feral dogs here. Then two puppyboys burst into view from the adjoining hallway and galloped toward Runner and Kelly on four stubby limbs each.
The one in the lead had short headfur in an eye-catching pink, matching an elaborate harness seemingly made of pink felt, and also matching his upraised, wagging tail. The boy trailing him had a similar harness, but with color scheme (including headfur) a more normal-looking brown.
Kelly shook his head in amazement. A puppyboy had made that sound? The pink-haired one skidded to a stop in front of Runner and began licking his leg, with another bark and a very dog-like whimper of excitement. Kelly said, "I've never heard a puppyboy who could bark like that."
Beside the pink one, the brown-haired one looked up at Kelly and gave him a very shy-looking smile, then rubbed up closer to the pink one and kissed his shoulder. Kelly wondered whether they'd been in the middle of something when the pink one heard Runner's voice. It was clear there was some special relationship between the pink puppy and Runner. Runner had dropped to a crouch and put his hands on either side of the pink one's head, and rubbed noses with the boy affectionately.
To Kelly, Runner explained, "He's had lots of practice. This is Puppy. He trained his entire life to be a dog. He came with me from Purity Island. That's how they do it there." Runner gave Puppy a kiss on the lips. "The Dean let us get Darien as Puppy's mate a year ago. Darien's a more standard puppyboy, from a local petboy store." Runner giggled. Puppy wagged his tail enthusiastically. Runner pointed back the way the puppyboys had come. "Puppy, go get Miles. Okay? Get Miles." Puppy ran off, wagging his tail enthusiastically.
Puppy quickly turned, with another bark, and pounded back around the corner, Darien following in his wake. Runner stood. "He can't talk, but he can understand most of what we say."
Kelly blinked. "Literally can't talk?"
Runner nodded. "Never learned. He doesn't even imagine he'd be capable of it. I assume Darien can talk, but I've never heard him. He just follows Puppy everywhere." He laughed. "Puppy love. Literally. I think Darien sees Puppy as the perfect model for the puppyboy Darien wants to be." He resumed walking.
They arrived at a door, which Runner opened. Kelly followed him in. "This is the Hall of Honor," Runner explained. "All boys who've been hanged on-campus are here. Mostly they were hanged at demos or at parties. You know about those?" Runner quirked an eyebrow at Kelly.
Kelly nodded. "Maverick didn't talk about it, but I've read all the Web site info about the Academy."
"Good. Now, along all the stacks here are the demo and party boys. Your..."
Kelly suddenly stopped short and pointed, his jaw hanging slack in astonishment. "Why have you got a Zeke Hillcrest mannequin? I can't remember him having anything to do with hanging." What appeared to be Zeke, looked especially out of place as a full body in a room occupied otherwise only by heads. He was reclining in a lounge chair, his arms resting on the chair's arms, one knee upraised. He wore a red speedo, swirl brief and dark glasses, looking for all the world as though he were sunning himself poolside.
Runner started laughing, and eventually sputtered, "I didn't even stop to think, you don't know about Larry. We're all used to him here." He gave Kelly a more serious look. "Larry was a Hanging Boy. He really gives us a lot of inspiration, because he shows us how dedicated to our craft we can all be. He went through major facial reconstruction to look like Zeke Hillcrest, because we had a client who wanted that — to hang Zeke. And afterwards Larry was processed by Full Body Associates, if you know who they are. His fur was preserved and mostly returned to us here at the Academy, of course. They replaced it with a synthetic substitute, and the organ and muscle tissue were replaced with something longer lasting; but the rest is Larry. The client kept him for several years. When he found he didn't need Larry any longer, he returned him to us, because he knew this was Larry's home. We all think of the Academy as our home — me more than most, I guess, but we all do."
Kelly was still staring at "Zeke." "So... now he just sits on display in this room?"
Runner laughed. "Ummm, well, no. Any of the students can sign him out for a night. Just so long as they clean him at the end and put him back the way he is now. Larry was Wynn's closest friend, other than Maverick, and I know, from Wynn, that Larry would really adore the idea of his body being used and loved. We do love him. He's one of us. One of the best of us."
Kelly's attention was drawn from Larry to something seen from the corner of his eye, and he turned that direction. There was a head standing alone in its own niche in the wall across from the general shelves. Kelly's hands dropped to his sides, his heart fluttering. Softly he breathed, "Maverick," and stepped closer. For the moment he was oblivious to Runner's presence.
Slowly, he reached out and stroked Maverick's cheek. My brother, he thought. My inspiration. My model for everything I want to be, everything I will be.
He was startled when Runner stepped closer, suddenly reminding Kelly of his presence. Kelly asked, "Has he been here ever since... that day?" The day, Kelly thought, when his life ended and mine began.
Runner nodded, and said quietly, "Wynn knew Maverick would want to be in here. This room really was special to Maverick."
Kelly looked at Runner. "Why?"
Runner looked at Maverick's face now, so similar to that of the one living boy in the room beside him. Almost whispering now, he said, "In this room, Maverick learned what being a Hanging Boy really is. That it's not something you can do alone. We're not really a school full of separate boys. We're one Hanging Boy. We all learn by sharing with each other, because we all have the same goal. We can't elbow each other out of the way to get to that goal. We get there by pulling each other along, lifting each other when we fall." He turned once more to look at Kelly, and Kelly's eyes were drawn away from Maverick to look into Runner's. Runner went on, "Maverick would want you to learn that too."
Kelly was about to respond that he knew what a Hanging Boy was, but as he looked at Runner, then at Maverick again, he was no longer so sure. He swallowed. "I... I'll try. If you'll help me."
Runner gave him a soft smile. "We all will." He startled Kelly then by putting his arms around him for a gentle hug. Kelly had little experience with hugs outside of sexual play, yet he was immediately aware that this hug had nothing of a sexual nature in it. It was, he suddenly realized, his first lesson in being a Hanging Boy.
Kelly's attention was caught by two nearby heads, sharing a niche just beyond Maverick. Two redheads, looking happy, bubbly — and identical. Each wore a choker with a glittery letter dangling from it, one an "A", one an "O". Their heads were leaning against each other, in a way that conveyed love for each other. Kelly, surprised, said, "You've had twin Hanging Boys?"
Runner let go of Kelly and stepped toward the redheads, kissing each on the cheek. "Brothers, but not twins. They were actually born a year apart. Just another one of those tricks genes play."
"Were they hanged together, though?"
"Uh-huh. After years of performing shows together at parties. Erotic pair hangings. Like Maverick and Wynn did."
Kelly, startled, looked at Runner. "Maverick and Wynn?"
"Oh, you didn't know? That's right, I guess you never would have seen that. But yes. Holden and Hamish learned how to do it from Maverick and Wynn."
At the mention of their names, Kelly looked at the plaque below the heads, identifying the boys as Hamish Maitland and Holden Maitland. His mind spun in neutral for a moment, trying to think why those names were somehow familiar.
At last it came back to him. He pulled the note the Dean had given him from his pocket, and saw the name on it. He'd glanced very briefly at it before — Hayden Maitland. He showed the note to Runner. "This must be their brother."
Runner looked at the note, startled. "Where did you get that?"
"The Dean gave it to me. Just now. He said Haydn is also applying this year, and he wants me to contact him."
Runner eyes glowed. "Really? You should, you really should. I know some stuff about him. He's been practicing hanging for as long as you have — even just a little longer, in fact. Hey!" He looked back at Hayden's brothers. "I just thought. That pairs hanging thing I was telling you about — only two pairs have ever done it. It started with Maverick and Wynn, and they taught it to Holden and Hamish. It's really very different from regular hanging, and it takes a lot of work to learn it. But it just occurred to me, you and Hayden are so experienced already — and you're brothers of three of the four boys who have ever done it! Do you think you'd want to try it?"
Kelly felt his heart beating faster. "So it's doing shows? In front of people? Like the way Maverick did his own hanging here?"
Runner nodded eagerly. "Yeah! You want to?"
Kelly remembered it all, the way he remembered it every day. The way Maverick had absorbed every molecule of attention of an entire room full of people, they way he had controlled them, aroused them — as only a Hanging Boy could do. Kelly had assumed he would only be able to do that once, and had dedicated all of his training to that single event. But to do it again and again, to savor the memories afterward... "Yes!"
"Great! I watched Holden and Hamish perform and practice for years, and I know how they trained to do it at the beginning. So I could teach you... Wait, first things first. When you get home... His phone number was on that, right?"
Kelly looked at the note again. "Yes."
Runner nodded. "Okay, when you get home, give him a call. Get together, see if you get along together. Okay?"
Kelly nodded quickly. "Okay!"
"And remember what I said. Hayden is not your competition. You need him, he needs you, and all of the boys here need you and you need them. That's what Maverick learned, right here in this room where you're standing."
Kelly looked back at Maverick once more. Thinking how obviously close Maverick had been to Wynn, when they'd come to the house together. How Maverick had tried to connect with Kelly. He wasn't the same Maverick who'd left three years earlier. I was being an idiot, Kelly admitted to himself for the first time. Maverick was trying so hard to tell me something. To tell me what Runner is telling me now.
Kelly stepped toward Maverick and kissed him softly on the lips. Okay, bro, he thought. Now I think I know what you were trying to say. We're all one Hanging Boy. I'll try to learn that. And believe it.
Kelly frowned suddenly, as the nagging thought that something was missing finally surfaced in his consciousness. He looked at Maverick again, then at Holden and Hamish Maitland. He turned and looked behind him at the heads of the other boys. "Runner, why doesn't Maverick have a collar? All the rest of the boys do."
Runner shrugged, and began, "Wynn told me..." He stopped, looking more closely at Kelly — his hand in particular, which had just twitched, unconsciously, toward the pocket in his jeans. A smile spread slowly across Runner's face. "I didn't quite understand what Wynn meant when he said 'Maverick's choker will come home sometime.' I understand now. You know something about it, don't you?"
Kelly stared at him for a long moment, and finally nodded. His hand went toward his pocket again, intentionally this time, and brought out a bright red strip of fabric, bearing a white script that read "Maverick - Property of the Hanging Academy." Looking at it, running his fingers along it, Kelly said in a choked voice, "I... always have this with me. I look at it every night, before I go to sleep, to remind me where I'm going. Wynn sent it to me after Maverick's hanging, with a note that said he wanted me to have it, because of how happy I'd made Maverick by being at his hanging." Tears were flowing freely now. "I never wear it. I haven't earned it. I know it's a graduate's choker. I just... always like to know it's with me."
He looked at Runner, trying to blink the tears away. "Wynn didn't say to bring it back here, or anything like that. But... he knew I would, didn't he?"
Runner, his own eyes shimmering and ready to spill, said, "Wynn knew a lot."
Kelly lifted the choker to his lips and kissed it, then stretched it out to its full length and, without hesitation, fastened it around Maverick's neck. Barely able to push the words through his closed-off throat, Kelly said, "It's home now, Maverick."
Runner rested his hand on Kelly's shoulder, and said, "So are you, Kelly. Want to see more of it? Tour's not over."
"Sure!" With a habitual gesture, Kelly patted his pocket. Not, this time, to feel Maverick's choker. He wanted to make sure the paper with Hayden's phone number was still there.
Preston Cameron sighed and ended the phone call, folding up his cell phone and returning it to his pocket. He had invited his son Andrew, now a vice-president of sales for a Cameron Industries subsidiary, living eight hundred miles away, to spend a few days at home when he had the chance. Andrew, once again, had irritably declined to enter the house as long as That Meerkat was living there.
Preston's mood brightened considerably as Larry bounded into the room. He had learned to walk at eleven months, and the walking phase had lasted about a month. Then had come an apparently permanent phase in which all locomotion was done at a dead run.
Preston held out his arms, and Larry bounced into his lap. Recently turned four years old, Larry was getting a little big to curl up in Preston's lap, but with plenty of practice behind him, he did it anyway.
Preston gave him a hug. "What've you got there, Peanut?" He recognized what Larry had in his hand as a framed photo from his dresser. He'd been exploring again. Tarrant, the family's slaveboy-nanny, was allowed a well-earned nap in the late afternoon. Ted was usually at home to watch over Larry. When Larry's otherDad was working — like today — Preston took over when he returned home. Then Larry would entertain himself within Ted's or Preston's earshot.
Larry held up the photo. "Who's this, Daddy?"
Preston smiled. He was sure Larry had seen the photo, without comment, any number of times, to the point where it barely registered, but recently the "What's this?" phase had come to encompass everything in the environment. "That's your brother..." It was one of the pictures of Wynn from the morning of his wedding party — standing alone, holding flowers, beaming at the camera.
Larry interrupted, frowning in deep puzzlement. "Maverick is in... repicater!"
Preston chuckled. "Maverick will be your new little brother when he comes out of the uterine replicator. This is your big brother. Wynn."
Larry's face lit up in startlement. "That's my name! Larry Wynn Cameron! L-A-R-R-Y W-Y-N-N -C-A-M-E-R-O-N." Larry was spelling everything these days.
Preston's phone rang. He fished back out of his pocket, looked at the Caller ID, and smiled as he pressed the talk button. "Hi, Ted."
Ted's voice sounded weary but happy. "I've just got back to the mainland, and I should be home in a few hours. Everything's going smoothly. I can tell you all about it later."
"That's great! Did you..."
He stopped as the phone left his ear, the result of a violent yank on his arm. Larry was bouncing excitedly in his lap. "Is it otherDad? Is it otherDad? Can I talk to him?"
Preston held the phone up again, smiling. "Uhhh, somebody's claiming priority over the phone, hon. Hold on." He handed the phone to Larry.
Larry's face glowed as he shouted into the phone, "Hi, Daddy!" He said, "Yes" twice, with pauses in between, then, "Tarrant took me to the petty zoo today." After another pause, he responded, "Petting zoo, yeah. And I got to pet the baby goat, and it said 'Aaa-aaa-aaa' to me." He giggled, then listened for a moment. "I will! When are you coming home, Daddy?" After another pause, he said, "I will. I love you, Daddy!" Apparently under orders, he handed the phone back to his father.
Preston said, "He's been really good. He got a little weepy last night when you weren't here, but I let him sleep with Tarrant."
"He's okay now, though?" Ted had stayed away overnight once before, a few months earlier when work started on the restaurant. He hated being away from Larry that long.
"Well, let me check..." Preston wriggled a finger in Larry's armpit, and was rewarded with a squeal and giggle. "Does he sound happy enough?
Ted had not forgotten Wynn's suggestion — some five years ago now — about using his money to make a difference. And shortly before he married Preston, Ted had found that way: working to find ways to improve the lives of the slaveboys of Purity Island. He had sought advice from sociologists and cultural anthropologists as to how that could be done, and eventually assembled a number of interested ones into a committee. All were agreed on the principle that it would be self-defeating to try forcing the settlers to do things differently. The islanders' were very resistant to change; that had led them to settle the island in the first place.
During a lengthy discussion of the many features of mainland culture absent from the island, one committee member mentioned that there were no restaurants anywhere on the island. He himself didn't attach any particular significance to the lack of such establishments, and it wasn't until another member made a joke about the settlers having never seen a waiter that the germ of an idea began to take root.
So Ted had personally obtained permission from the Onderman Corporation, which decided the operation of such a business posed no threat to their own interests. Ted had funded the construction and hiring of the kitchen staff for a restaurant that had now opened for business in Purity, the largest town on the island. The restaurant took payment in trade. The goods they received were then sold to the Onderman Corporation, and it provided the farmers with a pleasant place to eat food prepared and spiced in unfamiliar ways while chatting with neighbors in a relaxed atmosphere. It also introduced the farmers to beer, along with making the familiar wines available.
And significantly, it also introduced the farmers to waiters. The restaurant employed boys of prey species recruited from the mainland. Most of them were college students getting credit for a semester of sociology; they were paid for their work on returning home. They took orders from the patrons and served the food and drinks — naked, of course, but festooned in brightly colored cloth bands on their upper arms, wrists, and ankles, and colored ceramic slave collars. Ted himself had suggested the "uniforms," based on the painting in his home that had gotten Wynn's attention. The painting now hung in the bedroom he shared with Preston.
The idea behind the presence of the waiters was that they would gently tweak the farmers' perceptions of prey in a number of ways. Island men generally had little or no experience in dealing with prey who didn't belong to them personally, but their tradition of respecting the property rights of neighbors gave them a tendency to treat the waiters politely, an early step on the road to personal respect. The rare cases of waiters being treated rudely were handled by temporarily banning the offending customer from the premises. The farmers retained their generations-old abhorrence of clothing on prey, but the waiters' cloth bands were very minimal and did not cover any "important" part of their bodies, so there was no objection. This planted the seed of the notion that the beauty of a slave's body could be enhanced by decoration.
Eventually the waiters' coverings would include a waistband that would, over a period of months, expand ever so slowly toward their private parts — it would be discarded, to be tried again much later, if it caused any negative comment. (At present, the waiters remained naked at all times, even in their off-duty hours in their private quarters in the building. Neither Ted nor any of the committee members wanted there to be any chance of an "incident.") Finally, and most importantly, the customers in the restaurant could see prey performing in a role that required intelligence far beyond anything they had ever given any prey an opportunity to display — the boys memorized the menu and described the dishes on it, relayed orders to the kitchen, and eventually returned with exactly the meal they had been asked to bring, rarely having to ask who got which dish.
All of the service was performed with friendly smiles. None of the boys wrote down the orders, since the reaction of the farmers to prey displaying actual literacy was not yet known, but plans were being made to experiment carefully later with hints that the waiters could read and write.
Construction had now begun on a restaurant in Fairhold, another of the coastal towns, with plans to establish a foothold in all five towns, and, someday, in the more remote areas of the island. The committee had now moved on to a search for further ideas for changing the ways prey were perceived on Purity Island.
The restaurant was called "Wynn's Place." The locals understood it to be a mainland name. They didn't associate Wynn's name with the escaped slaves that had caused such an uproar five years ago. Indeed, that incident was now "ancient history," occasionally remembered — with advantages — by those who had taken part in the search.
On the phone, Ted now sighed to Preston, "Anyway, it's good to be wearing clothes again. And I don't plan to go back in the near future, so I can grow my headfur out again." All of the prey working for the restaurant were required to wear their hair cropped very short, in the island style for slaves, though cut much more neatly than was usual for the local slaveboys.
"Did they have you pull a cart again?" Ted had no choice other than to appear to be a slave if he wanted to be on the island. Impersonating a farmer was much too dangerous.
"To get from the ship to the restaurant? Yeah. But Rank Hath Its Privileges. My cart was filled with empty boxes. It looked heavy, but it was easy. They know I'm Mr. Moneybags for this project... Oh!" He laughed. "Bart, the manager, actually suggested I ought to wait tables for an hour or two, just to get a feel for it. So I tried it. Even got a few leers from some of the farmers around my age. But aside from that, I watched from the kitchen. It's all really running smoothly." Preston could easily hear the pride in Ted's voice, and knew it wasn't for his own accomplishment, as such. It was for what he'd been able to do for Wynn. "Anyway, I'll see you in a few hours."
"Okay. Oh, and that thing you just said about clothes," he said cautiously, with Larry still in his lap. "Don't get too used to it."
Ted laughed delightedly. "I'm sure you've got something naughty planned. See you in a bit. Love you."
"Love you too." He clicked off and folded up the phone.
Larry was looking at the picture again. "Daddy, did you and otherDad get part of Wynn?"
He smiled. "We got part of his fur. You're wearing part of him, too." He tickled Larry again, and was rewarded with another squeal. "We had to share him with a lot of other people. He was a Hanging Boy."
Larry nodded wisely. "Tarrant says sharing is good. I share my toys with my friends. What's a Hanging Boy?"
Preston paused and thought how to put it. At last he said, "A Hanging Boy learns how to die in a really special way, so he can make a lot of people excited and happy."
Larry's face lit up in a way that suggested he heartily approved of that idea. "Can I be a Hanging Boy, Daddy?"
Preston pulled his son closer in a hug. "Peanut, you can be anything you want to be."