The Price of Freedom (7 page)

She frowned.

"Bragan, I don't want to seem difficult, but that doesn't make any sense to me. He can't even drink by himself, how will he take the pill?"

"You can place it in his hand and help him lift it to his mouth," Bragan said quickly.

"How does that keep him from getting addicted?" she asked skeptically. Bragan snorted, and stood up abruptly. His face grew cold.

"Are you an Imperially-trained physician?"

"No," she said quickly.

"Do you have any medical training at all?"

"No," she whispered. Jess bit his lip, trying not to laugh. Bragan was bluffing so hard it was almost pitiable.

"Well, then I suggest you don't question my methods," Bragan said coldly. "I saved this man's life and I'm keeping him alive now. I performed surgery on him in a pressurized tent, for love of the Goddess.

How can I possibly be expected to explain years of training and theory on addiction to you? You don't even have the vocabulary to understand the scientific reasons he needs to be taking his own medication.

Give me one of them right now and I'll show you how to do it. No, give me two. He's suffered all the past cycle. This will help get the pain under control."

She gulped, then nodded. Bragan took the tabs from her and knelt beside Jess.

"Place them in his hand like this," Bragan said, pretending to give Jess the pills. Jess played along, clutching his fingers around the imaginary drugs. As Bragan lifted his head, Jess winced. Somehow being helped by the doctor wasn't the same as being helped by Bethany. It would be nice to take one of those pain pills, although he wouldn't dream of doing it. If they were going to escape, they'd need every one of them.

"Then raise his hand to his mouth," Bragan continued. "This allows him to have control over the medication, to make a choice about taking it."

Jess obligingly pretended to drop the pills into his mouth. Next time he'd have to find a way to hide them in his hand during this…perhaps between his fingers? That might work.

"Now lift the water and let him wash it down," Bragan said in a condescending tone. "Can you do that, or is it too complex for you?"

"Yes, of course," she said, her voice tight. "I'm perfectly capable of helping him do that."

She sounded upset, and to his surprise he felt compassion for her. Ruthlessly he pushed the feeling aside, forcing his heart to grow cold. He couldn't afford to have warm feelings toward any Pilgrim.

"You see," Bragan said, lowering Jess' head. "It's relatively straightforward. I'm sure you can handle this. Remember, two pills every hour."

"I'll remember," she said, her voice soft. She stood and left the room quickly. Bragan shook his head.

"I feel so bad for treating her like this."

"Don't," Jess said. "She's one of them. She may be beautiful and she may be kind, but her people are the reason we're working ourselves to death here. I don't want to hurt her any more than you do, but I won't let compassion for her stop me from getting out of here. I would advise you to do the same."

"You're right," Bragan answered. "She is one of them. I just wish that she wasn't."

"So do I," Jess replied softly. "So do I."

* * * * *

It was a long day for Bethany. She helped Jess drink and take his medications. She fed him several times, always cradling his head against her body and feeding him herself. The cold porridge seemed disgusting to her, but he was happy enough to eat it. Of course it was slow going for him. Each session took at least twenty minutes, all of it spent with him lying against her breasts. She was so embarrassed.

Every time he touched her it seemed as if her heartbeat grew fast and fluttery. Her nipples responded to each movement he made. She was terrified that he would notice the two tight nubs under her clothing.

Thankfully, he seemed completely unaware of her discomfort. It was one small blessing.

By the time the day ended she was exhausted. Between trying to get all her chores done and caring for Jess, she'd barely had time to run to the infirmary and get more pain meds. He was getting sicker over the course of the day. She could see it in the confusion on his face, the way he turned to her without recognition. Several times he spoke, rambling and saying things she couldn't understand. At one point he started thrashing about, and she'd been forced to throw herself over his body, pressing him to the pallet with all her weight. He'd settled down after that, at least for a while, although he grew worse whenever she tried to leave him. Finally she simply gave up and snuggled down with him in the pallet.

The strange thing was that he didn't feel particularly warm or feverish to her. But then again, she wasn't a doctor, she reminded herself. Bragan knew what he was talking about. It wasn't her place to question.

Part II: The Revolt

Chapter Five

Jess was growing restless. It was so hard to keep up his pretense of being an invalid. Ten cycles had passed since his accident and the men were nearly ready for their revolt. He could tell that if they didn't move soon they'd have problems. Bose had been in to check on him once already. Something about the man's manner, standing over him in utter silence as his hands twitched uncontrollably, made Jess even more nervous than he'd been before. He wasn't sure the station leader would give him the full two weeks.

Bethany wasn't making things any easier for him. Initially she had been so attentive; something he'd done changed that. He suspected she'd seen him hiding one of the pain tabs. Now she watched him like a hawk, and their supply of pain killers had stopped. She might not know what was up, but she no certainly longer trusted Jess and Bragan. That was clear enough. She wasn't willing to touch him any more. Jess missed those touches more than he cared to admit. It had been so wonderful to feel her against his skin.

From the gentle sensation of her fingers against his cheek to the softness of her breast against his head, everything about her mesmerized him. Watching her every day without once being able to touch her was unbearable.

Even more unbearable was the fact that he couldn't do anything to counteract her newfound caution.

If he pinned her against a wall, took her in the storeroom, she would know he was much stronger than he pretended to be. The game would be over.

Still, he burned for her. He pretended he was tired of staying in the close confines of the storage room, told her he needed to get out and move a bit. Every morning she watched with hooded eyes while he slowly and painfully walked out into the main room, settling on a pallet he made from his blankets. She never offered to help him, although she took care to make sure he had water at all times.

Fortunately, she didn't seem to mind leaving him alone in the room as she ran her errands. Whatever she was afraid of, it never occurred to her that he might steal her supplies, he thought grimly. He now had a wickedly sharp pair of scissors in his possession, as well as a small knife. They might be small but he figured they would be more than enough to slit a man's throat. All he had to do was kill the two guards at the head of the mineshaft. Then he could free Logan and the 28 other men who had volunteered to have their implants removed…

He closed his eyes in sadness for a moment. There were supposed to be 30 men. Two had died under Bragan's knife. Officially, the Pilgrims believed they'd been killed in mining accidents. Everything was ready; it was time to make their move. One more cycle and he would creep softly down the tunnel toward the guards. He would slit their throats slowly and deliberately, then send the elevator down for Logan and the men. Timing was everything. He had to move right after the guards changed shifts, mid-cycle. This meant the men he had to kill would be relatively fresh, which concerned him. But the added benefits of striking while the entire station slept and no change of guard was expected seemed worth the risk. He and Logan had gone over the escape a hundred times over the past few cycles, while he was ostensibly "showering" in the slave barracks with Bragan's help.

Their plans were clear.

Bethany was the key to those plans. He would take her hostage, then they'd use her to trick the guards into opening the locked door to the mining complex. He didn't like the idea, of course. She would be in some danger right at the beginning. But they were at war and she was his enemy's daughter. After the next cycle he would never be a slave again; she was a necessary part of that. It was too late for regrets.

She came into the room with the first of the food carts, interrupting his thoughts. He nodded at her.

It still amazed him that they would leave her alone with him for hours at a time, no sign of a guard. Just one more example that she was of little value to her people. He thought of his sister Calla, and his heart ached. No matter what she did, whatever personal failings she might have, he would never have treated her the way Bethany's family treated her.

It simply wasn't right.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him courteously. She used her foot to kick down the cart's brake and walked over to the counter.

He already knew what she was doing—she was getting him his bowl of gruel before it got cold.

Why she did it he had no idea. His company seemed to make her nervous; for all she knew his very existence could cost her life. Yet she still took the time to bring him his food before it had time to cool.

"Enjoy your dinner," she said, giving him a brief smile. "I have to go and get the other carts."

"Thank you," he said politely, reaching out to take the bowl from her. He deliberately stretched his fingers so he could touch her hand. That spark of awareness leapt between them, and he tried to capture her gaze with his. He loved looking deep into those cat eyes. Too bad she was afraid to meet his stare.

"I have to go," she said, her voice cracking.

Jess smiled. She could pretend all she wanted but there was no way she could deny their attraction.

She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Once the revolt was over and the station belonged to the slaves, he was going to make her admit it.

* * * * *

Bethany put both hands against the small of her back, enjoying the way it stretched her aching spine.

The carts were so heavy… at least she was done with them for now. The men were locked in their barracks. Soon the blasting crews would enter the mine, and she should get some sleep.

But even as she walked toward her father's apartment, she couldn't stop thinking about Jess. It was getting harder and harder to ignore him. She'd realized fairly early on, within the first few days of his waking up, that he was taking advantage of her.

And to think she'd felt so dirty and wicked for having thoughts about him. After all, he was an injured man who relied on her for his very survival. That was until he'd shifted position as she was feeding him, pressing his erection against her rather blatantly. Suddenly she had realized the attraction wasn't one sided. It hadn't taken long after that to understand he was milking her for all she was worth. Every time she helped him, he was doing his best to feel her up. Worse, he was hoarding his pain pills. She had to put a stop to it; or he might end up addicted. This kind of complication was the last thing she needed in her life.

Of course, she understood he was still very sick. Privately she wondered if he would be able to return to the mine in time to meet their deadline. They'd only discussed it once; he had told her not to worry. He would make it somehow.

The words haven't been reassuring enough for her.

At least he was tucked in for the cycle, and it was time for her to go home and rest. All the slaves were fed and locked in the barracks. Jess and Bragan were secured in the store room. Everything was clean and ready for the next work cycle. She sighed, enjoying the fact that she had eight blessed hours to rest and be alone. Her father probably wasn't even out of bed yet.

She made her way through the quiet station. The only signs of life were a few of the younger women who had helped prepare dinner for the slaves. Now they were hard at work on breakfast for the rest of the station. Fortunately, Bethany had managed to scavenge some bread earlier so she wouldn't have to waste precious sleep time waiting for the food to be readied.

She arrived at her father's apartment, amused as always to see the small surveillance camera above the door. It swept slowly back and forth, recording everything in a continuous loop, all cycle every cycle.

It was relatively new; with his elevation to the head of the council he'd become convinced that he needed such security.

Bethany considered him utterly paranoid. Of course, her opinion didn't really count, she thought wryly. Pompous ass.

She placed her hand on the palm plate and the door slid open silently. She crept into the apartment as quietly as she could. She knew from experience that waking him wasn't a very good idea. She moved quickly to the fresher, but to her surprise the door wouldn't open. It seemed to be jammed, and there was a tangy, almost metallic smell in the air. What was going on?

"Is there someone in there?" she asked, keeping her voice low. If he was still asleep she didn't want to risk waking him.

"Bethany, is that you?" Moriah's voice came though the door. For a moment Bethany didn't recognize it; the sound was hoarse and painful.

"Moriah?" she asked. "It's me, Bethany. Open the door. What's wrong?"

The door slid open and Bethany sucked her breath in. Moriah stood shakily in the center of the small room. She was naked, her pale body streaked with blood. Around her neck were fresh bruises and her eyes looked dead.

"Moriah, what happened?" Bethany asked in a shocked whisper.

"I think I killed your father," Moriah said, her voice harsh and painful. Bethany's mouth dropped.

"What do you mean?"

"He was strangling me," Moriah said. Her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over Bethany's shoulder.

"I thought I was going to die. He was drunk and saying crazy things. He was going to kill me," she added.

"I could hardly breathe. My arms were flailing around and then I felt something…"

"What was it?"

"It was the lamp," she said tonelessly. "You know, the one in his bedroom? Made out of plast-crete? I grabbed it and hit him over the head."

"Are you sure he's dead?" Bethany asked, filled with dread. "If you just injured him, he might not remember what happened. We could tell him he had an accident."

"No, I'm pretty sure he's dead," Moriah said, her tone flat. "I didn't stop hitting him until I could see parts of his brain. I splattered them."

Bethany gasped and swayed. She grabbed the door for support.

"I suppose you're going to turn me in now." Moriah said softly. "Will you let me shower first, and get dressed? I don't want them taking me away while I'm still naked."

Bethany nodded her head, stunned.

"Um, yes, you can shower," she said. "But we have to figure out what to do."

"What's there to figure out?"

"How we're going to get rid of the body. And explain his absence. I have to admit, I don't have any ideas right off."

"You aren't going to turn me in?" Moriah asked, voice hollow. The woman was in complete shock.

She didn't have a clue what she was saying.

"No, I'm not," Bethany said. "It's obvious that you did it self-defense. I know what Bose is like. You aren't the first woman he's abused, and he's certainly threatened my life more than once," she added with a bitter laugh.

"There's no way you'd get a fair hearing, though," she continued. "And in all honesty, there's no reason they wouldn't blame me for what happened. With Bose gone I won't even have anyone to live with. I wouldn't be surprised if they punished me instead of you," she mused. "Makes a certain amount of sick sense. If they blame me, they get to punish someone who doesn't have any value to the community.

They won't want to kill you. You can still have children."

"So what do we do?" Moriah asked. "People are going to be looking for him today. There's a body in the bedroom. What should we do?"

"Well, first you need to get cleaned up," Bethany replied. "I need you to go home to your baby. I'll tell everyone that Bose is sick—that will buy us some time. Then we'll think of what to do next. Maybe we can rig some kind of accident?" she muttered, thinking out loud. "If his body's destroyed in it, they won't know when he died. He's been drinking a lot lately, more than usual. They might blame the
bakrah
for the accident."

"What kind of accident could you rig?" Moriah asked. "How are you going to pull that off?"

"I have no idea," Bethany said grimly. "If you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them."

* * * * *

It took her hours to clean up the bedroom. It was the most horrible, disgusting thing she'd ever had to do in her life. She wrapped his body in some blankets and managed to shove it into one corner, then attacked the blood in the floor and walls. She'd sent Moriah home as soon as she had showered. It wouldn't do either of them any good if she were caught leaving the apartment.

To her surprise, the lamp itself cleaned up easily enough. The plast-crete was strong, far stronger than her father's head had been. She examined her feelings as she cleaned, looking for grief. Her father was dead. It was his blood staining her hands; shouldn't she feel something?

She felt fear. Fear she would be caught, fear that Moriah's child would be left without a mother. She also felt anger. Anger at her father for bringing her to this point. Anger for the drinking, the abuse.

But no matter how deep she looked within herself, she couldn't find any grief. There was a secret exaltation in his death. He would never hurt her again; never hurt any woman.

She was glad he was dead. There was a good chance it would lead to her own end, but she didn't care. Seeing him dead was worth it, and for a brief moment she wished she had been able to do it herself.

The cycle was almost over by the time she finished cleaning. She still didn't know what she would do in the long term. She had no way to explain what had happened to him; no way to dispose of the body.

She took a long shower, washing every trace of blood from her body. Then she scrubbed her clothes out in the sink. Strange, she wasn't very tired. Must be the adrenaline…She was shaky, though. It was going to be a long cycle.

* * * * *

Jess and Bragan had been up for more than an hour by the time they heard Bethany arrive with the first food cart. Both men were tense. Today was the day. Whether they would live as free men or die as slaves would be decided in the next few hours. Logan and Jess had briefed their men the night before.

Everything was ready. Now they sat, chatting anxiously and waiting to be let out for the cycle.

Usually she opened the store room for the cycle as soon as she arrived with the first food cart.