the holding tank, pacing between office doors, ignoring the people who passed by on their daily rounds.
“You look like someone who’s about to have a root canal,” Jaguar said as she walked to him.
The tension dissolved from his face and he managed a rueful smile. “I didn’t like the set up,” he said. The other interviewers had guards and a laser fence, but Jaguar insisted on unprotected contact, calling it a moral prerogative. Though she used her red glass knife as needed and never regretted a necessary killing, she thought state sponsored execution was a bad idea, allowing all involved to deny personal responsibility. She preferred full contact, and the burden of full knowledge. If Francis died, she would know she killed him, and why.
“Because he’s a mutoid?” she asked.
“Because he’s a killer,” Alex replied.
Mutoids were troubled with ailments ranging from blindness and twisted intestines to mental illness and impaired cognitive functioning, but evidence was clearly against them being violent by nature. They were just easy to blame because they were easy to pick out of a crowd, as the color sage green was during the Killing Times. Our eyes betray us into prejudice, Alex thought.
Looking at Jaguar’s profile—her silken mahogany and honey hair, the angles of her amber-toned face, her Native heritage written in her skin—he knew she felt that in a more personal way than he did. That might be why she accepted this committee assignment without a fuss. But he’d still been uneasy about the interview.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve dealt with murderers before. That’s my job.”
“And you know how Francis killed the other women? He snapped their necks. The last one in front of five witnesses who weren’t quick enough to stop him.”
She shrugged it off. “They weren’t me. And I can’t stand those laser shields. They interfere.”
Interfere. She meant they made empathic contact difficult. “You didn’t—” he held up the first two fingers of his right hand in the gesture of the empath. He’d warned her not to attempt that.
“Just a surface touch here and there,” she said. “Nothing he’d notice.”
Of course, Alex thought. She was the most skilled empath he knew, able to move into the thoughts and experiences of others as smoothly as water into dry stone. She’d done that to him more than once.
He let his hand drop to her arm, ran it lightly across the folds of green silk she wore. “Why’d you wear this?”
“He claims he doesn’t kill empaths anymore,” Jaguar said. “I wanted to see if he meant it.”
“And?”
“No anger, no fear. In fact, not a molecule of reaction. He says that’s all over.”
“Huh,” Alex said.
“Yeah,” Jaguar agreed. She let out a long breath, and moved forward.
They walked down the corridor in silence, but he stopped her at the door to the meeting room where she’d confirm execution. “Jaguar,” he said, “you can still beg off this one.”
She eyed him coolly. “Paul requested me. What’ll he say?”
“To you? Nothing. I’ll tell him Dr. Addams finds herself incapable of rendering a decision in this matter. I’ll catch some heat, but not enough to burn.”
“And I’d let you, if it was true. But it isn’t, so let’s get this over with.”
“Wait,” he said, and then he spoke subvocally.
Look at me, Jaguar.
She lifted her sea-green eyes to his dark ones. He moved across the surface of her thoughts, feeling his way within the emotional complexity that was Jaguar. All was serene, without a hint of static, and only a lingering sorrow. In response to it he gave her a memory of his hand on her face, his mouth on hers. She moved to him, then quickly withdrew.
Careful, Alex. People will say we’re in love.
People rarely speak the truth, Jaguar.
He felt her laughter before she broke contact, and then they were looking at each other in no way that would raise an eyebrow. They weren’t ready to make their relationship public. Too many consequences. Too much unnecessary trouble.
“Ready, Dr. Addams?” he asked out loud.
“Let’s go,” she replied.
He opened the conference room door, and they entered.
The others—Teachers and Supervisors, legal reps and Board governors—were seated around the gleaming black table, waiting for them. Paul Dinardo, governor for Alex’s zone, shifted his slouch and raised his heavy eyebrows at Alex as they took their seats. He always anticipated trouble when Jaguar was involved. Alex shrugged, and he leaned back.
“Since we’re all here at last,” Governor Richard Tremont said pointedly, “let’s begin.”
Everyone settled in. This was a pro forma meeting, a public voicing of an inevitable decision, and therefore the protocol was weightier than the substance. Richard would review trial transcripts and victim statements, forensic evidence and investigative procedure, breaking every ten minutes to ask for questions. It would be a lengthy and tedious meeting.
But in this prison system the order to execute was contained within the most cautious of routines. The Planetoids were established to replace a punitive system with rehabilitation and restitution, based on the premise that all crime grew from fear and therefore criminals could be rehabbed by facing their fears. An order of execution was a distinct departure from that concept. In 20 years they’d had only four cases of prisoners convicted of premeditated murder during their programs. That and a credible prognosis of incorrigible were required for execution, with unanimous agreement from four other Planetoid voices.
Richard droned on, expecting no questions and receiving none. They’d had weeks to go over the material he reviewed. When he concluded he turned to the Planetoid Two interviewer.
“Samuel Barry,” Richard said, “How say you in the matter of Francis Durero?”
He stood. “I speak for execution,” he replied, and sat again.
“Laura Less, how say you?”
She stood and repeated the formula, as did Rinaldo Scott.
The others shifted into motion, closing up notebooks and looking at watches to see how late they were running for dinner. One more Teacher, a closing speech, and they could leave.
Governor Tremont turned to Jaguar. “Dr. Addams, how say you?” he asked.
She rose and faced him. “I speak against execution,” she replied, and sat back down.
Alex jerked his head up hard. No one else reacted.
Assuming her assent, expecting it, they didn’t hear what she’d actually said. Richard nodded somberly and began the ritual speech absolving them of guilt in Francis
