The Price of Freedom

“Well, it’s a good solution,” he said. “We need someone to feed them, and we need someone to supervise their laundry and other womanly tasks. Decent women have been doing the work for too long.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Bethany said meekly. She wasn’t going to die after all, at least not for now. She could work with the slaves, she thought. They scared her, particularly the one who had taken the cart from her the last time she was there, but she would have guards to protect her from his intense gaze. 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.