“However, we all know that an apology is meaningless without an attempt to rectify the condition which caused it to be necessary.” Chris nodded to the back of the room and slaves began to distribute sheets of paper to everyone seated. “I hereby ask to re-word my proposal in a such a way as to hopefully provide an honorable compromise that will satisfy everyone on all sides of this conflict.”
People took the sheets eagerly and scanned them—it was a simple wording change, with appropriate notes for the subsequent changes that would have to be made in his proposed plan of action neatly numbered underneath. It was in English, French, and Spanish. There had not been enough time to find someone to set the text in Japanese, which was a regrettable display of discourtesy, but he was willing to be called on that one.
“To make matters simple,” he continued, as more of the room read his changes, “I wish to make this committee I proposed a strictly voluntary body, made up of mutually selected members at first, to be followed by individuals who choose to affiliate with them by following the guidelines that the original committee agrees upon for training.”
There was a low murmur of discussion and translation, and Chris saw Dalton and Mr. Ward pursing their lips gently to keep from smiling broadly. Across from them, Ken Mandarin was also engaged with the text—Paul Sheridan and the trainer from Amsterdam were both whispering to her.
“Point of information here, Mr. Parker,” Geoff Negel said, raising his hand. “If this is voluntary, why would it be necessary for us to discuss it at all? Any of us can make any sort of special interest group and do what we like in it. Why involve the formal body?”
“My aims remain the same, even though I admit that my first attempt to deal with them was unacceptable,” Chris responded. “I wish to preserve and continue the older, more traditional forms of training. I envision a way to allow trainers to rise through the ranks in an organized and recognized fashion. And I would like customers and clients to know which among us has chosen that path of teaching. I would like the Marketplace to recognize this voluntary organization in all catalogs of slaves and lists of trainers and spotters. Eventually, I expect that customers will come to know which slaves have been trained by more traditional methods. That level of cooperation from our bureaucracy must be addressed by our Coalition in a formal manner.”
“And you think that this will be enough to run the less traditional ones out of business?” Geoff asked pointedly.
“You have admonished me yourself, Mr. Negel,” Chris said, “that I need to be more sensitive to the power of the market. I admit that you were correct. Buyers will make their own choices, depending on which method they prefer, and which results are more—promising. It will be—a free marketplace for us—and our clients—to compete in.”
Geoff frowned and was going to ask something else, but sat down to confer with the Brazilian man seated next to him.
“But what if I want to have my own group?” asked Sam Keesey. “I can start one of—I don’t know—call it New Wave training. Do I get my own listing in the catalogs too?”
Chris shrugged. “Every trainer here is free to propose any motion they wish.”
“Will the Marketplace do this?” asked Tucker thoughtfully. “It ain’t the original proposal, that was all our business. This gets the paper-pushers involved.”
Eyes turned back to William Longet, who was their liaison to the Marketplace bureaucracy. He examined the wording carefully and nodded. “This is not an unreasonable request for us to make,” he concluded. “As trainers and houses are already listed and credited, it would be of no great effort to add any voluntary association.”
Walther Kurgan signaled and rose to speak. “I do not think this new proposal will solve the problem of shoddy training that we already suffer,” he said with a snort. “But in the interests of détente, I support it.” He sat down and folded his arms. It was the shortest statement anyone had made during the meetings, and there was a rush of laughter, which he scowled at.
“I, too, support this measure, and announce my intention to be part of the organizing committee for this new association,” said Ninon. “And I applaud this young man for his loyal efforts to improve our membership and maintain peace among us.” She glanced at Chris and smiled gently.
A few of those on the former opposing side rose to question the motion behind the newly worded proposal, but it was hard for them to come up with concrete arguments against it.
“This could potentially lead to a...a Balkanization of our united resources,” Geoff Negel said at one point. “Just as the countries of the former Soviet Union are dividing into territories bounded by ethnic hatred and conflict, this can lead to separation. Will there be two Academies after this, one for the traditional trainers and one for everyone else? We are strong together, my friends, not divided by differences in style. Additionally, this can lead to a feeling of devaluing among those who choose not to be affiliated.”
“But if the old ways are so debased and inhuman, why would you feel devalued?” teased Walther, now thoroughly enjoying himself.
Several of the trainers and spotters who were opposed to the original and unhappy about it immediately announced that since the new proposal was completely voluntary, it could potentially have nothing to do with them, and so they welcomed the chance to be reconciled with their former opponents. Ken Mandarin was the first spotter to say so, and she did it with an understatement that left several of her friends bemused. And when Howard Ward rose to speak, Chris took a deep breath.
The British man gave a slight nod to him, and his aristocratic face looked thoughtful. “Upon careful consideration, I support this proposal as an appropriate method of creating mutual bonds of fellowship among like-minded trainers...”
And it was over. By the time Tetsuo Sakai declared his support for it, the opposition crumbled, leaving only Geoff Negel and a few of his staunchest supporters. William Longet was not the only one in the room who looked relieved when he brought his gavel down, marking the end of debates.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen for your wisdom, forbearance, and obedience to order,” Longet said with a smile. “We shall set up the balloting boxes in this room after today’s luncheon. Please bring all properly registered proxies between three and four o’clock, so that they maybe checked against the master lists. Since the proposal has changed, it is advised that you attempt to contact those whom you will be representing. But if that is not possible, please vote according to your understanding of their will, in good faith. This formal business discussion is now ended.”
Cheers filled the room, and people thumped each other on the back and hugged. Tucker and Keesey shook hands, and Ken Mandarin kissed the back of Ninon’s hand with a flourish, and Walther Kurgan lifted Corinne off her feet.
Many of them came over to Chris, who stood and shook hands with everyone, his voice low and warm. He did not protest when Kurgen grabbed him in a big bear hug either, and took it in good grace when the older man thumped him heavily on the back and said that he wasn’t so bad for such a gloomy youngster.
Ken came over to hug him briefly. “I knew you could do it,” she said lightly. “Come and sit with us for lunch, hm?”
“Thank you,” Chris said, but before he could accept or decline, he saw Dalton coming over, with Bronwyn in close pursuit. Ken patted Chris on the shoulder and waved Paul and Joost and Shoshana over to her to make room.
“Well then, Mr. Parker,” Dalton said, looking unconcerned and slightly bemused. “Good show. A gentleman knows the value of compromise.”
“So I have been instructed, Mr. Dalton,” Chris said. “I have had the benefit of wonderful teachers.”
“Hmph. I must say, puppy,” Dalton leaned forward, his voice pitched slightly lower. “You were an interesting boy. But I hazard that you have become a quite adequate man.”
“Thank you...” Chris started to say, weakly, but Dalton had already pulled back and smiled that tight, thin social smile and the private moment was gone. He wanted to laugh—adequate, used twice this morning as an expression of praise. How wonderful! How Japanese, how British, how perfect. Someone else took his hand and he shook it and mouthed more words of thanks as he saw Dalton join the stream of trainers exiting the room. He nodded and looked into their eyes, into the faces of people whose names he memorized, whose writings and track records he was familiar with, and took their congratulations, whether offered in honest glee or a shrugging acceptance. And when Tetsuo Sakai, Sato-san, and Noguchi-sama all nodded to him together, he felt about ready to fall backward into the chair and let one of the exquisite slaves hovering that week fan him and bring him a drink. But instead, he bowed to them in gratitude and waited until they had left the room to finally sit down. His knees were weak, and he folded his hands to keep them from visibly trembling. When Michael came over with a glass of water, Chris kept him waiting for a few seconds, until he took a few deep breaths.
“Is it over now?” Michael asked, still somewhat dazed at how easily two days of arguments had been put aside.
“All but the voting,” Chris said. “But for all intents and purposes, yes, Michael. It’s over. And...I need...something stronger than this, I think.”
Michael laughed. “I’ll get you something, what’s your pleasure? It’s kind of early for Scotch.”
Chris sighed and shook his head. “Yes, you’re entirely right. But if you would like to make yourself useful, then have some green tea sent to a free bathroom and make my apologies to anyone who wants to see me before lunch is over. I am going to take a very long and very hot bath.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Michael said confidently. “Um—do you want—company, sir?” It was a daring offer. Michael felt the nervousness in the pit of his stomach, but knew, just knew, that this was something that a—a person in service would offer. His teacher looked stressed. A massage, or simply a body to play with, abuse or enjoy, was what an owner had a—had someone in service for. He had been resisting offering things, and had been so glaringly wrong. How had he not realized that this was something he could—or should be doing? But now, the very thought of providing some sort of release for Chris was like a glowing light spreading around his mind.
“Why thank you, Michael, I appreciate your gesture,” Chris said with his wry smile. “How remarkable. But I will have to decline, I am not in the mood for company right now. Just the tea, please, and you need not bring it yourself.” He stood and nodded a brief dismissal to Michael. And as Chris walked carefully out of the room and made his way to the ryokan building, Michael finally did whistle as he hurried to take care of that small chore.
That wasn’t bad at all,
he thought happily.
Wow, what a week! When we got here, it looked like it was going to be nothing but my fuck-ups and his fight with Geoff. And now, I’m the good student taking care of business the right way and he’s a freaking hero. What a way to end the Academy!
He couldn’t wait to record this all in his journal, including the way he noticed how people spoke and bowed and shook hands when it was all over. Man, he would have never understood all the nuances a simple nod could have if he hadn’t seen it here.
Everything was going to be just fine from now on.
Ken was disappointed that Chris was ducking out of lunch, but that didn’t stop her from inviting Mike to join her and her fellow spotters, almost exactly the same crew that Michael had been subjected to on his first day. But their hostility was completely gone now, and so was any agenda but making sure they had all the contact information possible about each other. Business cards and small note pads and flashing pens were much in evidence.
There was also a new energy in the rooms, and Michael was both flattered and amused by several invitations to come to private evening meetings—“with Mr. Parker’s approval, of course!” It took him a few minutes to realize that these were—at last—not business meetings or special interest meetings or anything connected to politics or even training techniques, but pure and simple play events. Sex parties. Orgies, maybe.
“Why on Earth do you wait until the last night of the Academy to play?” he asked out loud, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Some of us don’t,” Ken teased, raising a delicate eyebrow toward him. Too pleased to feel embarrassed, he grinned back at her, and Paul laughed.
“You know, I spend so much time going to parties and whatnot, it felt great to come here and lay out in the sun all by myself,” the older spotter said, comfortable in khaki shorts and a white shirt that looked like it came from a safari guide. His sunglasses were tucked into the front pocket, and he looked as relaxed as though this whole Academy was nothing but a vacation for him. “Believe me, I don’t miss a minute of play. It’s almost a relief to come here and not be expected to put on a show or impress a novice or take down some crafty old client who’s itching to add notches to their collar.”
“I like to see the old friends,” Joost said. “If I am in bed with one slave after another, I never have time to lose at poker and hear all the gossip.”
“You have to learn to gossip in bed,” Ken suggested. “Or, perhaps you should fuck a slave over the dinner table, while gossiping! Who needs a bed, anyway?”
“You know, I never heard so many people complain that they had too much sex,” Michael said.
“Oh, I am not complaining!” Joost insisted, and Paul nodded in agreement.
“You poor men, of course you are complaining,” Ken chided. “After all, you cannot fight nature—you can only spend so many times a day, true? While we women have all the advantages. We can enjoy ourselves fully every hour if we wish—every five minutes, if it is our pleasure!”
“Ken, in my next life, I wanna be you,” Paul wisecracked.
“Too late, my friend. I have lived such a virtuous life, the gods will return me over and over again, for their pleasure.” They laughed and Michael leaned back in his chair, mulling over his subtle invitations and wondering what Chris would do or say when he found out about them. He had to be in a good mood—would he relax enough to let me go to one of these? Would he want to go, or feel that he had to? I wonder if the Japanese trainers will have their own get-together, maybe he would want to go to that one. He idly wondered what that might look like; judging from Japanese porn, things could get mighty kinky.