If the Chief Justice noted that Jacques said "await" instead of the more correct "will obey", he gave no sign of it.

"Very well," he said. "Court will convene in five minutes." He turned so abruptly that he almost b.u.mped into the Bailiff, who was making a poor effort to cover his disappointment.

Sir Mallory smiled at Jacques, and said warmly:

"The FBIT is proud of you!"

When they had left the room, the still frightened squire stuttered:

"S-shall we d-dress, Sire?"

Jacques walked without answering to the couch and sat down on the edge of it.

"Get a move on!" he ordered. His feelings were in turmoil: He was desperately eager to see this Lady Ann, yet he dreaded the moment. If this was the Ann....

Fingers trembling, the squire anointed each muscular shoulder with three drops of perfumed oil, after which he drew over Jacques' head and upper body the white tunic--white to symbolize the purity of motive in entering the execution arena. Next came the black breeches and hose--black for the eternal remembrance of death. Over the tunic came the flaming red jupon, blazoned on the sleeves with gules and on the back with a lion rampant argent. On his left shoulder, the squire fixed a lace of white silk, representing a deed not yet accomplished.

Following the execution, a woman who had won the honor in her plant lottery would cut it off.

After lacing on Jacques' boots, the squire stepped back, s.n.a.t.c.hing an instant to admire his handiwork.

"Well done, Squire," said Jacques. "Now, let's be off!"

The squire flushed and beamed in grat.i.tude. He picked up the silver case containing the two Pistolet du Mort, one for Jacques, one for the condemned person.

Court was on a portable platform in the center of the Judicial Arena. As soon as the execution was confirmed, it would be wheeled out of the way.

When Jacques stepped from the tunnel and strode toward the platform, an abrupt hush choked off the babbling and laughter in the stands. Most of the hundred thousand capacity crowd was already seated. Behind Jacques, the squire straightened his narrow shoulders with pride. This was the highpoint in a life spent among the tapes, circuits and feedback problems of computer research.

Jacques mounted the platform, bowed to the crowd and took his seat in the black-draped, carved oak chair to the left of the Bailiff. His squire stood proudly behind him. The Bailiff murmured:

"An imposing entrance for one who had only five minutes to dress! Your fair victim isn't here yet."

Jacques stonily ignored him.

An explosive cry from the stands brought the Bailiff to his feet.

"Here she comes!" he announced with a grin of antic.i.p.ation. "Take a good look, Sir Jacques--it's worth while!"

Though it was the hardest thing he had ever done, Jacques refrained from looking until the woman and her two jailers had nearly reached the platform steps.

And then he looked straight at her, and the shock of it was a physical blow. This was Ann, all right. Even after all the years there was no doubt about it. She was as tall as he remembered her, and there was the same softness and warmth in the curve of her sun-brown shoulders. He suddenly felt the old ache for her.

She held a velvet robe around her shoulders, but she held it loosely, disdainfully. Under it, she was already dressed in the translucent death gown. Her thick, blond hair, much longer than the fashion of the day, fell nearly to her shoulders. On her feet were the silver sandals she would later remove, along with the velvet robe, just before stepping up on the pedestal in the execution circle.

The two jailers, each in skull cap and long black sleeveless robe, led her to the prisoner's bench below the dais where the judges would sit.

The sight of her was a torment to Jacques, the ripping open of an old scar. He knew that in a moment their eyes would meet, but there was not enough strength in the corded muscles of his neck to turn his face away.

Time had been kind to her, Jacques thought in one corner of his numbed brain. There were signs of its pa.s.sing, around her mouth and her eyes, but it had given her what youth could not. There was a knowing in the curve of her lips, and he wondered what her eyes would tell him now.

But she glanced first, with some amus.e.m.e.nt, at the two jailers, who held their crooked staffs at the alert position. Next, her eyes contemptuously swept the semi-circle of empty judicial chairs. They pa.s.sed by the Bailiff so quickly that he looked cheated, and then they stopped full on Jacques.

He read in their calm appraisal the knowledge that she had expected him to be here, and that she was not surprised at what the years had done to him. Perhaps she had seen his pictures in the faxpapers, or even watched some of his executions. But he wanted to know more than this, and he tried to look deeper into the light and shadows of her eyes.

It was still there, he discovered, feeling a selfish sense of pleasure that she had not found what he hadn't been able to give her. The endless seeking, the search for something never put into words, the want unfulfilled--all this was still there.

He knew that she was reading him in the same way, but he could not tell what she found. Finally, it was she who looked away first, not in retreat, rather to appraise him thoughtfully. He felt her eyes on the knotted muscles of his cheeks, on his arms, on the whitened knuckles of his scarred hands, on his boots, now grey with dust from the walk across the arena. When her eyes came back to his, her unpainted lips parted in a faint smile.

She knows, thought Jacques. She knows I don't want to kill her! And then the torment in him became unbearable. What irony that out of all the years of their lives they should come back together at this moment. An impulse tugged at him to s.n.a.t.c.h his pistols from the squire's silver box and try to take her from the arena, daring any to stop them.

Then he realized that the Bailiff was standing again, that the hundred thousand spectators were surging to their feet. Trumpet fanfare blasted from the main tunnel, signalling the arrival of the judges. Instinct brought Jacques to his feet. Ann remained seated, and rose only after the jailers nudged her with their curved staffs.

"Oyez, oyez, oyez!" cried the Bailiff into a microphone concealed in a carved boar's head."'Tis now two of the clock at aftir noone, and yon heralds bearing trumpets of devise give in knowledge unto all gentilmen, ladyes and gentilwoomen the cooming of this high and most honourable court! Remain at standing until said court is seated!"

The Chief Justice, regally stern, led the procession of judges, clerks and pages across the arena. They mounted the platform, stepping in cadence. When the robed and bewigged judges were all seated, the Bailiff raised his staff and the crowd settled down with a buzz of antic.i.p.ation.

High atop one of the north towers, hidden cameras picked up the scene and vidcast it around the earth, and to the satellites and lonely planet outposts.

One of the clerks picked up five rolls of parchment, untied the scarlet ribbon on each, and pa.s.sed them around to the judges. The Chief Justice went through the pretext of scanning his, then nodded to the Bailiff to present the prisoner.

With a sly wink at Jacques, the Bailiff took Ann firmly by the arm and guided her three steps forward. The Chief Justice coughed the nervousness from his throat, and asked:

"Is this the Lady Ann of Coberly?"

Before the Bailiff could make the correct response, Ann gave her own impatient answer.

"I am Badge No. 7462883, Transistor Division, Coberly precision Products, Ltd."

The Chief Justice frowned at this breach of court etiquette.

"Have ye not been properly instructed?"

Ann shrugged, and the loose robe slipped lower on her shoulders.

"I suppose so, but is it necessary to waste all this time? You've got the record in front of you!"

The judges exchanged significant glances, and a delicious shudder swept through the stands. Jacques felt time running out on him. At best the chances of a reprieve for any prisoner were small, and in face of Ann's att.i.tude....

The Chief Justice's expression congealed into judicial impa.s.siveness.

"Ye are charged with taking the life of a man," he began solemnly.

"That's not true!" Ann interrupted.

Her unexpected words brought a startled gasp from the spectators. The judges leaned forward alertly.

"According to the evidence ..." the Chief Justice began again.

"He wasn't a man!" Ann cried scornfully. Her glance flickered across at Jacques. "There are no more men."