Part Six

I'm not sure what precipitated Senator Baxter's visit to Kinnetik, but Monday afternoon Brian called up to the studio and told me he was bring up some guests. I appreciated the warning as it gave me a few minutes to clean up a little. By the time Brian entered with the guests, I had been able to cover my clay sculpture with a wet cloth, put the excess clay away, and was in the process of washing my hands in the utility sink. I paused when I saw who was with Brian. Senator Baxter was there with her assistant and a pretty blonde reporter and a cameraman followed behind them.

"Justin, I would like you to meet Senator Diane Baxter and her assistant James Clark," Brian said.

The Senator smiled at me and held out her hand. I looked to Brian and he nodded, so I politely shook her hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," I said.

"Why don't we all sit and get comfortable," the senator said. We sat around the seating area, Brian and I sharing the chaise. The reporter and cameraman set up in one corner and when they were ready, the Senator began. "Justin, I wanted to ask you a little bit about your life. You see, I've been campaigning to improve the rights of PCs for the past decade, but the truth is that not many people understand the issues. They believe that since there are a handful of laws on the books to protect PCs that there isn't need for more. Honestly, I'd do away with entire system if I could, but unfortunately we're just not to that point yet."

I nodded and said, "What would you like to know, ma'am?'

"Well, first of all, can you tell me where you came from?" the senator asked. "Before the training center."

I nodded. "I'm originally from right here in Pittsburgh. My father is a wealthy business man. I think he owns some sort of electronics store. I'm not sure, though. I was pretty young when I was sent away."

"You father was wealthy?" Brian asked with surprise. Most PCs were from poorer families who needed the money. I knew from talks with Vic that Brian's own family had been approached by a recruiter when he was a child, but his mother's strict religious beliefs prevented her from selling him just as they had prevented her from getting an abortion when she was pregnant with Brian. Vic said it was the only thing Brian was grateful to his mother for. I was grateful too. Brian's childhood might have been shit, but at least he was free to do and be what he wanted now. And he was free to own me and take care of me.

I nodded to him. "I don't remember much, but I know we lived in a big house and there was always money for art, music and dance lessons. My mother used to drive me around town all day long before I started school."

"How did you end up at the center?" the senator asked kindly.

"My mother died," I said. "And my father got remarried. My stepmother didn't want me around. My father would have kept me anyway but I said something that made him think I was gay, so he finally agreed to send me to the training center. My stepmother knew one of the recruiters."

"How was life at the training center?" the reporter asked.

I glanced at her and then to Brian. Again he nodded his permission for me to answer. "It was tolerable."

"It was different from what you knew before though," the senator prompted.

"Very," I told them. "I remember school before. We would have story time and snacks and played games. We were encouraged to make friends with the other children. There were no games or stories at the center. Our days consisted of lessons, physical exercise, and meals. We were kept separate from other trainees as much as possible and when we were together, any sort of interaction was discouraged. Emotional outbursts were not tolerated."

"What do you mean?" the reporter asked. "What sort of emotional outbursts?"

I shrugged. "I remember that when I first got there, I used to cry a lot. I was scared and I missed my mother. Each time I would cry, I was locked into the meditation room. That's where they sent us to think about our behavior."

"What was this room like?" the senator asked.

"It was pretty small," I told them. "More like a large closet than a room really. And there was nothing in the room. The walls were painted black and when the door was shut, there was no light. I hated that room. At first, each time I was sent there, I would cry even more and a couple times I hyperventilated and passed out, but they never let me out until I had calmed down and had time to consider my behavior."

"How long did that usually take?" the senator asked.

Again I shrugged. "A few hours, once almost a day."

"And this began when you were how old?" the reporter asked.

"I was one of the older trainees when I was sent," I said. "I was seven. I learned fairly quickly how to avoid the meditation room."

"I'm sure you did," the senator said with a kind smile. "You seem like a very intelligent young man." I gave her a smile of thanks. "What sort of lessons did you attend at the center?"

"Well, there were the traditional subjects," I said. "Math, English, science, languages, computers and history. Our trainers also tested us for any special gifts and talents and we were allowed to take extra courses in those areas. I took art lessons. We were also given courses in etiquette, social discourse, social dance, erotic dance, and the various courses on sexuality, but those didn't start until we were twelve."

"So you were at the center for ten years, not allowed to interact with your peers or have time to relax?"

I nodded. "Our schedules were very full. We were allowed an hour each day to watch television that had been approved by the director. And once a week we had a movie night."

"So you've never had a friend?" the reporter asked and I could hear pity in her voice that I didn't like.

"I had a friend once," I said. "It was before the center and her name was Daphne. We used to play together in the sandbox at the park when we were toddlers. And we were in kindergarten and first grade together until I was sent away. Sometimes we had sleepovers. I sometimes wonder what happened to her."

"You were sold on auction, were you not?" the senator said.

"My first auction," I said with some pride. It was a sign of a PCs value how quickly they were sold at auction.

The senator stated how much money I was purchased for and I nodded. Brian looked surprised, but didn't comment. "And you were bought by James Marston, according to the public records."

"That is correct," I said.

"How long were you with Mr. Marston?" the senator asked.

"Two years," I told her. "He was a kind owner. He never beat me or mistreated me."

"What was your life like there?" she asked.

"Mr. Marston was happily married and had a full household staff, so my duties were not very taxing," I said. "It was rather boring at times, to be honest. Mostly I was expected to entertain the occasional guest."

"That is how you met Brian, is it not?" the senator asked and I wondered how much Brian had told her before coming up to the studio.

"That's correct," I told them. "Mr. Marston had some friends over for their monthly poker night and Brian was there."

"You were traded that evening as part of the poker game," the senator said. "Were you upset by that?"

I glanced at Brian. "No. I saw Brian and… he is a very attractive man." The senator laughed at that as did the reporter and Brian. "Besides, it is not my place to approve or disapprove of my owner."

That sobered them. "How has life been since you've come to live with Brian?"

I smiled than. "Brian has been rather wonderful, actually. He gave me this studio to use for my art and he has allowed me to work with his art department. He takes me dancing. He does not lock me away in his home. He takes me out and I have seen more of the world in the last six months than I had in my entire life before this. But more than that, Brian protects me, not just from people who would hurt me physically, but also from those who would say hurtful things."

"What is your relationship with Brian like?" the reporter asked. I looked to Brian and he smirked at me before nodding.

"It's quite wonderful," I said. "He never makes me have sex with anyone I do not wish. He allows me to choose if and when and with whom I have sex. He has only one rule and that is that only he is allowed to penetrate me."

"We'll edit that out," the reporter murmured to the cameraman. "But you do have sex with Brian?"

"Of course," I said with a frown. Then I got where she was going with her questions. "But never against my will. Brian always asks if it is what I want before we do."

"And if it isn't what you want?" the senator asked.

I shrugged. "I have never not wanted him to give me pleasure. Unlike most men, Brian is very concerned with my pleasure. Why would I not want that? Besides, Brian is quite beautiful and skillful."

"I said before that you are a very intelligent young man," the senator said. "According to your sale records, your IQ is in the stratosphere. Did you know that?"

"I know that there are requirements for intelligence and appearance to be recruited," I said. "I know that I surpassed those requirements, but beyond that…" I shrugged.

"If you weren't a PC, what do you think you would have done with your life?" the reporter asked. "With all that talent and potential, it seems a shame that you have been stifled by your position in society."

"PCs are not permitted to think of such things," I told her reprovingly. Sharing thoughts like that would be grounds for a prolonged stay in the meditation room. "I am simply grateful for the opportunity that Brian has given me to utilize my talents."

The senator turned to Brian then. "Brian, I was witness to a disagreement the other evening over Justin. Can you explain what that was about?"

Brian frowned but nodded. "We were at a party and Justin went to the restroom on the second floor of the house we were at because the guest bathroom was occupied. The hosts of the party took umbrage to his presence and manhandled him. I was rather angry not only because they laid their hands on a person who cannot, by law, protect himself, but they continually treat Justin like an object instead of a human being."

"You seem like an unlikely person to own a PC," the senator said.

Brian shrugged. "As you said, I won Justin in a poker game. I have never once considered buying a PC, but it would have been rude and bad business for me to turn down Marston. So I ended up with Justin."

"You seem to have pretty strong feelings about PCs," the senator said.

Brian nodded. "I was recruited, but luckily my parents declined to sell me into slavery."

Everyone in the room seemed to flinch at Brian's use of the word slavery. Despite the fact that PCs were in fact slaves, no one in polite society acknowledged that fact out loud.

"Justin is not a dog or an inanimate object," Brian continued. "He is a human being who has been forced to live a life that was not of his choosing. He is bound by laws that obstruct his freedom. Rather than enjoying his childhood, Justin was brainwashed into believing that his only value is to serve others. He is a brilliant young man and a brilliant artist and yet when other people his age were going off to college and going to parties and deciding what they want to do with their lives, he spent two years moldering away in some mansion. And Marston is a good owner by anyone's standards. There are some sick fu– bastards out there. An owner can beat his PC to death and all he would face is a fine and a slap on the wrist."

I had never heard Brian speak out about PCs before and I was stunned. I think perhaps the others in the room were stunned as well because there was silence for long seconds before anyone was able to speak.

"If you feel so strongly against PCs why have you kept Justin?" the reporter finally asked.

"Because who knows what sort of person his next owner would be?" Brian said. "If he's with me, I can give him a certain amount of freedom and I can protect him from the worst of the crimes committed against PCs. Did you know that the average life span of a PC is 30 years? It isn't because they are unhealthy. 11% of PCs are killed by their owners or by someone the owner has named to represent him. 57% of PCs eventually commit suicide. That rate rises to 89% for those that do not complete training for one reason or another. Justin will not be among those statistics. I will make sure of that. Legally, I can't free him, but I can at least make sure he has a decent life."

Brian looked at me and smirked. "Besides, he's a hot little twink."