The Academy by Laura Antoniou

was the youngest; he had paid his deference early, and was rewarded with a position next to Ninon and frequent nods when he spoke. They seemed gratified that he took their teasing in stride without being baited into replying sharply. If any of them had expected him to be as blunt as Anderson, they hid their surprise. In fact, it was almost as though they were ready to accept him as an individual.
    It was beginning to look like this Academy was going to be nothing but a series of shocks.
    Ninon passed him a sheet of paper, and he scanned the list of trainers on it. She had placed her initial next to several whom she agreed to speak to. As they chatted and joked, he initialed three he already knew, sighing as he saw the familiar names. He then passed it onto Walther who scowled at it. But he would agree; he would do his best as they all would. Whatever Anderson meant by leaving her attendance a mystery, whether it was to pass on her mantle to her favored protégé or to protest this very battle among her kind, they could not afford to waste time in group speculation.
    And in fact, Walther seemed to snap out of his displeasure as easily as he had slid into it. He scrawled his initials across several names and tossed the sheet of paper onto the male slave’s stomach. “I am due at a discussion now,” he announced. “If any of you can do this favor for me, see if this female is available for later tonight.”
    “After the demonstrations?” Corinne asked. “I will share with you, if you like.”
    “Good God, no, during them. Thank you for your offer, but I don’t know if I can stand another two hours of this sort of thing,” Walther laughed, waving his broad hand dismissively over the bound bodies. “I want some diversion while any new styles of bondage or singing and dancing are going on. Perhaps we can share someone tomorrow.” A few of the trainers laughed or smiled politely.
    “I will ask Honore,” Tetsuo promised. As the German left, the remaining trainers all took a moment to study the bondage sculpture again, and then moved in closer to each other to talk about business, ignoring them. It was one of the many small differences between the trainers; some of them brought sex to their business, others brought business to their sexuality. It was no dishonor to Walther that he would rather fuck a slave than watch something new and distinct; it was just his style. Everyone had their own priorities, and as long as they did their jobs well, a certain amount of individual taste was always allowed for. It was only the eternal presence of the slaves themselves, clients or property, which remained the same.

    * * * *

    After his first seminar, a kind of basic overview of the current market conditions, Michael’s head was reeling with something other than the hangover. It was one thing to understand that the Marketplace was international and old and established; it was another thing to hear people discussing things ranging from rescuing Marketplace property from places that were splitting apart in political anarchy to how to recreate the huge Russian market that was broken up after the Revolution. The Chinese representatives were eager to discuss what might happen when Hong Kong was returned to the main land—would that hurt them, or would it open greater mainland China, the largest potential customer base in the world? That the hand-over wasn’t scheduled for years didn’t matter—apparently, some of the Marketplace plans were decades in the making.
    American software millionaires, Russian businessmen, and Asian import/export pioneers were dominating a rise in new ownership. Fewer slaves were renewing contracts with the same owners after their first years. Contracts themselves were getting more complicated all the time. So many little facts were jotted down in his notebook, so many questions alongside them. How on earth had he ever thought this was all easy to understand?
    “Ah tell you, it’s getting harder and