The Price of Freedom (2 page)

To protect her from all of them.

“Go away,” Bose said, taking another drink. “You’ll start your new work during the next cycle.

You'll follow the same schedule as the slaves. I suggest you get some sleep, because it may take you a while to get used to sleeping while the rest of us are awake. I don't want you shirking your duties because you're tired.”

Nodding her head, Bethany moved quickly down the hall to her bedroom. She’d dodged disaster once again. Her life had been full of such crises since her husband’s death, the first of which had been his family’s decision to turn her out. She had made it back to her father’s house, and she was prepared to do whatever it took to survive. Bose and his council had no idea how determined she was to stay alive. She wouldn’t go quietly. If they tried to expose her, she’d take as many of them as she could with her.

Pulling off her dress for the second time that night, Bethany hung it on the peg. She crawled into bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and staring into the darkness. She wasn’t going to sleep for a long time; she was too filled with adrenaline for that. Her life had been in danger once again, simply because she didn’t have a husband or children. It wasn’t fair.

Bastards,
she thought. Moisture welled up in her eye, but she forced the tears back. She couldn’t afford to show any weakness. She had to be as hard as a rock if she was going to survive.

* * * * *

Jess woke the next morning a few minutes before the bell rang, every muscle in his body tense. He always woke up like this, ready for a fight. His first sleep cycle in the barracks had been ugly—two men had tried to jump him. Since then he had slept lightly. The last three months had taught him a lot about protecting himself from all kinds of attacks.

Rolling out of his bunk, he moved quickly toward the back wall, where a fresher unit designed to serve ten men at a time was installed. His bunk-mate, Logan, was already there. He nodded silently in greeting. A tall, quiet man, Logan rarely spoke to Jess—but they shared a certain respect. Jess got the feeling Logan would cover his back if needed, and tried to return the favor whenever possible. Both of them slept better for their shared vigilance, and occasionally they discussed escape. So far they hadn't come up with anything that seemed likely to succeed.

Jess relieved himself, then looked longingly at the sonic showers. Each man was allowed five minutes a day, and he had long since learned to save his time for after his return from the mines at the end of the shift. He never really felt clean, but he knew they were lucky to have the showers at all. Apparently the smell of a hundred unwashed men was enough to overwhelm the settlement’s air filter system, so the Pilgrims had put in the units to control the stench.

Rinsing out his mouth, Jess strode back into the barracks. At the other end of the long room were several long tables, formed of plast-crete and bolted directly into the floor. The men were already starting to form lines in anticipation of their breakfast. The door opened; two guards walked into the room. They held their control wands before them, evil sticks with the power to kill any of the slaves instantly. Jess looked at them with hatred, but the guards didn’t pay any more attention to the men before them than they would pay to animals.

The food cart came in with a rattling noise. They could always hear it coming; one of the wheels was loose. It was pushed by a woman; heavily draped as usual. But it wasn’t just any woman, it was the woman he’d seen before. The one he’d dreamt of every night. His senses tingled as she approached. She walked slowly, carefully keeping her eyes pointed directly ahead. All around her the men watched with hungry eyes. They lusted for both the food and the body hidden under the folds of her clothing. His stomach clenched; he didn't like them looking at her like that. Gritting his teeth, Jess walked toward her, one eye on the guards. He had to get closer.

Her face was startled, wary, as he came and took the cart. His gaze met hers, and for one glorious moment he was sinking into those cat eyes again. Then she turned away and walked quickly out of the room, leaving the men to jostle for their food. Noise broke out and the tension eased.

The guards watched in sullen silence as the slaves ate, giving them fifteen minutes to complete their meal. Jess shoveled the tepid gruel without thought, grateful for the energy it would give him. Then one of the guards—a fat one they called Sluggo behind his back—gestured with his control wand, and the men made their way through the open door.

Jess was startled to see the woman in the outer room. She was kneeling in front of the large cabinet used to store medical supplies. Beside her was Bragan, a physician who had once been a free man. Now he tended to the slaves between shifts in the mine. Bragan was occasionally excused from working in the mines, so it was not all that uncommon to see him in the outer room. The sight of him with the woman, however, startled him Jess. He’d never seen a Pilgrim woman talk to a slave before, yet these two seemed to be engrossed in conversation. She even smiled briefly at the man. Jealousy filled his heart; at that moment he could have happily smashed Bragan's skull in. His anger must have been written on his face, because Logan elbowed him, shaking his head in warning.

The guards didn’t let them linger long enough for Jess to figure out what she was doing. They moved quickly through the room to a large staging area. Along one wall were lockers containing the pressure suits they wore to work the mines. Along the other wall—securely locked—were the lockers holding pressure suits and equipment used by the Pilgrims. Jess had never seen those lockers open.

Each man shrugged silently into his own suit. Then he and Logan took turns checking each other’s suits to make sure they were sealed properly. A suit failure could mean death. Jess tried to have two different men check his—the week before one of the slaves had actually sabotaged another man’s suit, killing him. None of them knew why he had done it, although Jess and Logan had been among those who had “questioned” him. Shortly afterwards he had perished in a mining accident. Justice among the slaves was swift and unforgiving.

Within minutes the men were suited. Under the watchful eyes of their guards, the line of workers trouped out the far end of the staging area. In groups of ten, they passed through an airlock and into the mouth of the mine. The walls gave way to rock, and the floor sloped noticeably as the tunnel went down into the asteroid’s surface. They arrived at an elevator, and once again entered in groups of ten.

Jess waited his turn silently, gazing at the rusty, ancient elevator apparatus. Soon he would enter the metal box, which would carry him deep into the mine’s depths. His partner, a young man name Trent, stood next to him quietly. Jess could hear his heavy breathing through the two-way radio they shared—their only way to communicate the entire time they were underground. Last week the radio had gone out shortly after they started work, and Trent had a panic attack. Jess had to work twice as hard to meet their quota, while his partner sat and cried. Trent was only 19 years old, enslaved for stealing. Jess had already come to the conclusion that the kid probably wouldn’t last too long. He wished Logan was his partner but bunk-mates weren't allowed to work together.

“Come on,” he said, giving his partner a push when it was their turn to enter the elevator. “It’s not going to be that bad. We’re in one of the upper tunnels today. You can do this.”

“I know,” Trent said. He shuffled ahead of Jess, turning to face the front of the elevator with slumped shoulders. The elevator door made a screeching sound as it closed, then the car started its slow descent into the vast darkness of the mine. When they got to their stop, Jess flicked on his helmet light, and stepped out of the car. Trent followed him, then the car door slid shut with another screech and they were alone.

“Do you want to drill today, or do you want me to?” Jess asked, looking to his companion. They traded tasks off regularly, one running a powerful drill to prepare for the blasting the Pilgrims would do the next cycle while the slaves slept, while the other focused on removing the ore knocked loose from the previous cycle’s blasts. When Jess had first arrived on the station, the sounds of blasting while he tried to sleep kept him up. Now he hardly noticed…working at "night" had become normal to him.

“You can drill,” Trent said faintly. “I’ll do the ore.”

Jess nodded his agreement, then turned to the equipment they had left the day before. Picking up the heavy drill, he hefted it over his shoulder and started carrying it down the tunnel, the cords that powered it trailing behind him like a long, skinny tail. Normally he and Trent would work at the same end of the tunnel, drilling and hauling ore together. It was certainly safer that way. But they had been ordered to separate last week. Apparently their Pilgrims masters were having a disagreement over which direction they should be digging. Until they figured things out, the slaves were going both ways.

The whole thing—like so many of the situations the Pilgrims seemed to get into—was ludicrous.

They were only accomplishing half as much as they could be, because they had to move the equipment and start over each day, but that didn’t seem to matter to the idiots. Of course, Jess didn’t really care. All he wanted to do was work just enough to meet his quotas and stay alive until he could figure out how to escape. The Goddess alone knew when he would find the chance, but until then he was laying low.

The morning went by fairly quickly, although after six hours of drilling he was getting a headache. He and Trent had taken several short breaks, discussing their progress each time on the radios. The last break, he hadn’t heard anything from the kid. Finally, needing a rest from the drill anyway, Jess decided to go and find him. The radio must have gone out again. Trent was probably catatonic with fear by now, Jess thought wryly. He just didn’t deal very well with being alone.

The darkness of the tunnel before him was absolute, the only light coming from his head lamp. As Jess walked down the tunnel he ducked his head several times to avoid overhanging chunks of rock.

Here and there were metal struts they'd put in to hold the ceiling together, although in the three months he had been working in the mines there had been several times where the struts weren’t enough.

Jess passed the landing area, where the elevator shaft and ore shafts passed through their tunnel into the mine's depths, then headed toward the far end where Trent was working. At first everything seemed to be the same as usual. Then he saw the first bits of rubble. Pulse quickening, Jess started jogging down the tunnel. His path was hindered, then blocked by rock and debris. Boulders blocked the tunnel—a cave in. With a sinking feeling, Jess realized Trent was probably dead.

Jess keyed the com unit several times, trying to contact the boy. Quickly, he switched his transmitter to the emergency band, calling his fellow workers to come and help him look for his partner. It would take several minutes for them to arrive, though, assuming they could convince the guards it was a genuine emergency. The Pilgrims operated the elevators from above; half the time when the men needed the elevators, their guards didn't respond. There was some speculation that they slept, although no one knew for sure. Jess looked at the ceiling carefully, trying to judge how safe he was. The normally solid rock overhead was cracked and every few seconds a small chunk would break off and crash to the tunnel’s floor. Not good.

Without warning, several large blocks of rock crashed down within inches of Jess. Reacting instantly, he turned and sprinted down the tunnel toward the elevator. Behind him rock collapsed with a roar, the noise muted by the thin atmosphere in the mine. The rock beneath his feet shuddered. How could he have missed this terrible noise earlier? Was the drill he used really that loud?

He was only halfway back to the elevator shaft when the rock hit him. Pain exploded through his head, then everything went black.

Chapter Two

Logan tore through the rubble, flinging rocks and debris behind him. It was almost impossible to hear anything on the radio because everyone was talking at the same time. It occurred to him that if he found Jess, it would be best to have the doctor on hand. Turning, he grabbed another man’s arm.

Leaning in close, he toggled the man’s radio to a new frequency.

“Find Bragan.”

The man nodded, and took off toward the central corridor. It would be a while before he returned; the guards at the top weren’t running the elevator very fast.

All along the tunnel, men were frantically screwing new supports into the rock walls. It had been nearly an hour since the cave-in, and they were all more than aware that another one could happen at any time. Logan had no idea if Jess and Trent were alive. In all honesty, he didn’t care much about Trent. But Jess was his bunkmate; he had guarded Logan’s back on more than one occasion. Logan wasn’t going to leave him if there was even a chance he was still alive.

He pulled a medium sized rock out of the way and a spray of rubble showered down on him. He jumped back as a larger rock rolled toward him. Then he saw something, a stripe of reflective tape shining ever-so-slightly through the rubble. It was part of a man’s pressure suit.

Logan gave a cry of triumph, and waved several of the others over to help him. Together they worked to free the man. Soon they had one arm loose. Following it, they dug toward his head. To Logan’s relief, the faceplate was still intact. It was Jess. He was still alive; there was a slight clouding of moisture on the clear plastic in front of his mouth with each breath. But he didn’t seem to be conscious.

The others started working to free his limbs as Logan carefully cleared the rubble from around his friend’s head. He reached around to the back of Jess' neck, and his glove came back covered in blood.

Jess was hurt. Even worse, there was a hole in the suit. The Goddess only knew if he was getting enough air…and the odds were pretty good that even if he was, his air tanks were depleting fast. They had to get him out of there or he would slowly smother in the thin atmosphere.

Logan felt something against his shoulder. He turned at the touch; it was Bragan. The doctor had an emergency medpack slung over one shoulder and Logan gave a sigh of relief. He toggled his radio.

“His suit has a slow leak and there’s some kind of injury on the back of his neck.”

“I’ve got a pressure tent,” Bragan said. “If you get him free, we can put him in there. It should have enough oxygen for several hours. We’ll need to keep his neck braced. He might have a spinal injury. If so, he’ll be paralyzed if we move him wrong.”

“If he has a spinal injury, he’s dead anyway,” Logan said, his voice tight. “They’ll never give him enough time to recover from that. Where the hell did you get a pressure tent?”

“I have my ways,” Bragan said, turning and setting the pack down. He started rummaging through it.

Within seconds he had pulled out a long, orange tube. He laid it flat on the ground and unrolled it. Then he activated a switch and the thing started inflating.

“Pay attention to your digging” Bragan said sharply, turning back to Logan. “You do your job and I’ll do mine. Get him out of there. I’ll get things ready for him.”

Logan turned back to Jess. Holding his head carefully still, he and the others cleared more of the rubble away. Then Bragan was back, pushing one of the men aside to get to Jess. Following his lead, Logan helped the doctor lift Jess away from the rubble, keeping his body as straight and stiff as they were able. It was a token effort, of course. If he were seriously injured he wouldn’t be given a chance to recover. It was easier for their captors to import new slaves than care for the ones they already had.

The tent was fully inflated by now. There was a little tunnel at one end serving as a primitive airlock.

“There’s not enough room for all three of us in the lock,” Bragan said. “Help me get him in. I’ll pull him into the tent, and then you can join us. The medpack is already inside.”

Logan did as he was told, trying to gage Jess’ condition from Bragan’s face. The faceplate on the man’s suit made that impossible. Then the flap was closing and the little airlock sealed itself off. The pumps kicked in and Logan was left to watch and wait. The little tent was designed to provide safety in an emergency, but it was far from efficient. A full cycle of the lock would take at least 20 minutes.

Brooding, he turned to survey the scene in front of him. About 20 slaves were there, half still digging through the rubble to find Trent and the rest shoring up the walls of the tunnel. No sign of the guards. He assumed they were too frightened of another cave-in to come down and check on their workers. It was just as well; they might have called off the rescue efforts. The tunnel, seemingly identical to any other tunnel in the mine, offered no clues as to why it had collapsed. At least he could see well for once—every man present carried a powerful lantern on his helmet. The helmet had probably saved Jess’ life, although it hadn’t extended low enough to protect his neck. A small light on the tent’s entrance turned from red to green, and he dropped to his knees. Time to go and see how Jess was faring.

Ever so slowly the lock cycled. Finally he was able to crawl into the tent. Bragan was kneeling next to Jess, examining him carefully.

“How is he?”

“The only injury I’ve found is to the back of his neck,” Bragan said. “He got lucky; his suit was punctured, but the dirt and powdered rock kept it relatively well-contained until you freed him up. His oxygen levels are good, so that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about for now.”

“So why isn’t he awake?”

“I don’t know,” Bragan said. “But it isn’t a good sign. He’s got a concussion of some kind, and since the impact seems to have hit him right on the base of his skull, in the back, it could be very bad. His brain stem could be injured, particularly if the bones in there are shattered. There’s no way of knowing, though, not without better equipment than I have here.”

“What about his spinal cord?”

"As far as I can tell it's all right," Bragan replied. "We need to roll him over to get a better look. It will need cleaning, and probably some sutures. There's a risk that we'll cause further injury, but that's a moot point by now. For all I know he's brain dead. Can you help me?"

Logan nodded, and together they rolled Jess on to his side. Bragan turned the powerful lamp on to the wound, and Logan hissed. A sharp rock must have penetrated the man's neck. There was a deep gash and the entire wound was filled with a mixture of blood and dust, as well as tiny scraps of fabric.

"Fortunately I have antibiotics," Bragan said softly. "Their medic synthesizes them himself. He keeps me supplied. If we can clean this out we may be able to keep it from getting infected. If he's not brain damaged, he'll have a chance at survival. Doesn't look like it hit any arteries…Hold him for me."

Logan did as he was told, watching Bragan as the man muttered to himself. He pulled a small bottle of something out of the bag. Liquid of some kind…

"What is that?"

"It's a disinfectant," Bragan said, pulling the pressure suit's fabric away from Jess' wound with gentle fingers.

"What kind of disinfectant?"

"It's some of that Pilgrim moonshine," Bragan said. "
Bakrah.
I'll thank you to keep your mouth shut about the fact that I have it. It may save your friend's life, but I won't have much of it left if the men in the barracks find out about it. Antibiotics are easy to find, but alcohol comes at a premium."

"Is it strong enough to work on a wound?" Logan asked. "I thought you needed virtually pure alcohol for that."

"Let me put it this way," Bragan said, a note of dark humor in his voice. "I suspect that most of the Pilgrim men who don't die from liver disease die from alcohol poisoning. I take some comfort in that, actually. Think about it a lot…"

"How the hell did you get it?"

"I have my ways," Bragan said again. "You don't need to know."

Logan grunted, and turned his attention back to Jess. Slowly the wound was coming clean. Bragan had flushed it out; now he was picking out the larger pieces of dirt. He worked in silence for several minutes, then cursed.

"I need to take my helmet off," he said. "I'm starting to sweat in here. It's hard to see. Can you do it for me? I've already washed my hands, and I don't want to touch anything."

Logan lowered Jess' body carefully, then reached over and pulled the man's helmet off. He pulled off his own as well; otherwise he wouldn't be able to talk to Bragan. Besides that, it was easier to see Jess. He lifted his friend again, and Bragan went back to work. Logan watched, mesmerized by the slow and patient way the man picked through Jess' flesh. Occasionally he would flush the wound, washing away the fresh blood that oozed up steadily. Then he saw something whitish, and his stomach heaved. It looked like…

"What's that?" he asked.

"His spinal column," Bragan said. "Don't worry, it looks like it's intact. The rock seems to have sheared right along it without doing much damage. Practically shaved the flesh off…"

Logan stared, unable to stop himself. He had studied anatomy in school, but it was different to see it on a living, breathing person. Then something caught his eye. Right at the edge of the wound, atop the spinal cord, was something metallic.

"What's that?" he asked. Bragan paused, peering closely into the wound.

"It's the control implant," he said softly. "I'm sure you know what they are. We all have them."

"I know what it is," Logan said dryly. "At least in theory. They wave the wand at us, we die. Pretty damn simple. What's it doing on his spinal cord? I was told they were actually implanted within the cord.

That's why you can't dig them out. But this is on the cord."

"It's probably the control unit," Bragan said, poking at it gently with the tiny metal pincers he was using. "This is what they implant. Then they activate it, and thousands of nano-machines expand out and go to work, spreading filaments through the nerves. That's why you can't remove it. Those filaments are braided directly into his nervous system on a molecular level."

Logan nodded, thinking. Bragan continued his work silently. After a few minutes, Logan spoke again.

"So that little unit is the hub, the processor, right?"

"Uh, huh," Bragan replied absently.

"So if that unit stops functioning, what happens to the filaments?"

Bragan looked up at him in surprise. "Nothing. They're still there."

"But are they active?"

"Define active," Bragan said, voice filled with dark humor. "They aren't active any time, unless they're activated by a control wand. The main unit serves as a control device and the filaments are what directly cause pain or death, depending how the wand is used. The rest of the time they just sit there."

"Does the wand activate the filaments directly, or does it simply interface with the control unit?"

"I would imagine it interfaces with the control unit," Bragan said. "The filaments are very simple constructions. They don't have any processing power of their own. Why?"

"I have an idea," Logan said quietly. "He's already unconscious, and there's already an opening on the back of his neck. I want you to take out the control unit."

Bragan grew still. Then he replied, very softly.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because everything I've told you is hypothetical," Bragan said, his voice tense. "Just because I've speculated on how these things work doesn't give me the right to experiment on this man. And you don't have the right to make a decision like this for him. Taking this out could kill him. It could paralyze him, even stop his heart from beating. I don't know what the hell might happen. There could be a thousand different booby-traps built into the system to prevent tampering. It's wrong."

"It's
wrong
?" Logan asked, his voice harsh. "
Wrong
is working to death in a mine on an asteroid that doesn't even have a name.
Wrong
is never having sex again, never even eating real food.
Wrong
is slavery. If we can find a way to get rid of these implants we have a chance at escape. This is the best opportunity to find out if it's possible that we'll ever have."

"And what if it kills him?" Bragan asked, his voice caustic. "We don't have the right to make that decision for him."

"Do you know this man at all?" Logan asked, his expression intense. Bragan shook his head. "Well, I do know him. We've been bunkmates and we've talked. He wants to escape. He has a sister, he wants to get back to her."

"We all want to escape," Bragan replied. "And we all have families." He paused. "Or at least, we did."

"Yes, but he and I have been discussing escape plans from the moment we met," Logan continued.

"This is an opportunity for him. He may die. He may live. But if he does live and he missed a chance to have his implant removed, I can guarantee that you'll hear about it. You have to do this."

"Just answer one question," Bragan said coldly. "And I want you to look me in the eye while you do it. If I did this, would I be doing it for him or for you?"

"You'd be doing it for all of us," Logan replied, meeting his gaze with cool certainty. "We're all going to die here, Bragan. And most of us will die within months, not years. We have a chance to save him, and ourselves. You have to take that chance."

Bragan closed his eyes without speaking. Then he nodded, once.

"I'll do it."

* * * * *

Bethany stared in horror as four of the slaves carried the man in from the mine.

He was covered in blood and black dust. His dark hair was matted with filth, and his breathing was fast and shallow. The guards had warned her that an injured man was coming, but nothing had prepared her for this…

His fellow slaves had found him in the rubble of the cave-in. Blood vessels in his face were broken from the low air pressure in his leaking suit, but somehow he was alive. It was nothing short of miraculous. His partner hadn’t been so lucky. The other man’s body had been crushed almost beyond recognition.