Chapter 2

“You heard the man. Let’s do it.” The lead guard stepped out into the hall and called out. “Dead man walking!”

The other prisoners, roused by the guard’s cry, pounded on their doors. It was the only sound in the place as the execution party made their way down the narrow corridor toward the prison yard. The condemned men couldn’t do more than make dull thuds and slaps and, given the pervasive chill in the air, even that hurt their hands. Genthry knew from experience. Still, they saluted their dying comrade as best they could.

Genthry didn’t acknowledge them as he passed, at least not with more than a quick glance through the eye slit in their doors. He didn’t want to cause any of them into more trouble than they were already in. Talking was forbidden on Death Row, and while they were already facing death, there was plenty the guards could do to make the waiting even less pleasant.

He blinked when he emerged into the fresher air of the surface. The last time he’d been on a planet with air this damp, the planet’s surface had consisted entirely of water. The sunlight made a sharp contrast here. When both suns were up, the place might heat up so far as to be sticky. It wouldn’t be warm, but it wouldn’t be cold.

My parting gift to you,he thought, and laughed at his own absurdity.

The head guard nudged him. His beady eyes, mud-colored like most humans’, were narrowed with suspicion. “What’s so funny?”

“Someday,” Genthry told him with a sincere grin, “you’ll be on the point of death yourself. And when you are, there will be thoughts running through your head. I honestly hope you’ll be able to laugh at them too.”

The head guard snorted. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“Maybe.” Genthry didn’t bear the man any specific ill will, but he didn’t like him enough to want to stand there and debate him either.

The guards gave him a little push. “You going to climb the stairs yourself, or do we have to drag you?”

Genthry looked up the stairs to the scaffold and swallowed, hard. Going out with some dignity had seemed easy in that little cell. Now that he was out here, having to climb up steep stairs in nothing but what he’d been wearing at birth, hands bound before him, he quailed. He didn’t want to do this. He knew what awaited him at the top. He could see the shadow of the Reactor already, even if he couldn’t see the machine itself. It would be seconds, once he got up there.

So many things he hadn’t done yet. So many people he hadn’t saved. He hadn’t fallen in love yet, either. He hadn’t set up a home, hadn’t built a life for himself. He was only twenty-four, for crying out loud. For a slave, that might be ancient. For anyone else in the Republic, he was practically still a child.

Quit your sniveling. You’ve already done more than you had any right to expect. Move your ass up those stairs and be glad you got as far as you did. He snarled at himself and took the stairs two at a time. Every second of life since he’d been deemed old enough to work had been borrowed time, or rather stolen. He should be proud of himself for that, instead of upset about what he hadn’t gotten.

The top of the scaffold wasn’t much. It was a bare, gray rock platform with two leg manacles sticking out of it. Genthry strode over to it and stood with his feet shoulder width apart. He set his jaw again and chose to ignore the greasy, ashy smear beneath his heels. Would it have killed these guys to clean up after themselves? He supposed they didn’t care what criminals like him saw, or what they felt about it.

Executions no longer took place in public, not even out here on the Margin. There wasn’t anyone out here but the guards, the person operating the Reactor, and Genthry himself. Neither of the guards had been expecting Genthry to show so much initiative, so they had to rush to catch up to him.

He took deep breaths to calm himself, even though his heart slammed against his ribcage. These were the last breaths he would ever take. The hazy red sun rising over the eastern horizon was the last thing he would ever see. The last thing he would hear was the hum of the Reactor charging up, the last scent—

Well, the last scent would probably be his own burning flesh. And the last thing he would feel probably wouldn’t be the cold metal cutting into his wrists, it would be searing pain. But for now, those things would suffice.