The Price of Freedom (11 page)

Marta was one of the younger women who worked in the kitchen. She had often slipped a roll with some meat in it to Bethany when the older women weren't watching. Visions of what her dead body might look like rolled through Bethany's mind and she quickly turned away. She couldn't think about that right now.

Marta unlatched the door and Bethany slipped out into the hallway. She had done her best to sound a warning. Now she needed to get home, where father's body was still wrapped in a sheet in his bedroom. The traitorous thought she'd had earlier crept back into her thoughts—if the revolt succeeded, the slaves might not be the only ones to escape the hellhole that was Bethesda Station.

Chapter Seven

The escaping slaves worked their way through the dome that housed the mining complex as quickly as they could. They kept expecting to hear alarms. There was only silence. Jess murmured a prayer of thanks to the Goddess for that; something had happened to slow Bethany down. Briefly he wondered if she was all right, and a pang went through him.

He pushed it out of his mind.

People would die on both sides before this was over. If she had stayed with him, she'd be perfectly safe right now. He had planned to leave her locked in the slave barracks; eventually all the prisoners would end up there. If she got caught in the middle of the fighting at this point, that was beyond his control.

They had decided to stick with their original plan for now. They were betting that the mining station had been built using standard, pre-fabricated domes set in a pinwheel formation. It was the most likely set up; the main question was how many domes there were and how many people lived on the station.

He'd probed Bethany for information as much as he could. They calculated the station had a population of about 170. About fifty were men. The slaves were outnumbered, but they had the element of surprise on their side, at least for the moment. They also had decent firepower. The Pilgrims had rather foolishly located their arsenal right outside the slave complex. Logan had actually burst out laughing when he'd found it, amazed by their short-sighted stupidity.

In record time they made their way through the mining complex and reached an area that could only be the central hub of the pinwheel. Jess noted with satisfaction that there were four portals leading into the hub, each of which had a large shield capable of cutting off the corridors if there were an emergency.

The mining dome was already theirs. If they could close the doors, they would be able to pick off the inhabitants of the other domes at their leisure. One of the domes appeared to be a greenhouse; the second public rooms and the kitchen. The third housed the apartments, and would be their primary target. Jess marveled at the foolish arrogance the Pilgrims showed yet again. Everything was clearly labeled. It had simply never occurred to them that they might have a security risk in their slave compound. They'd made moving through the station laughably easy for the escapees.

The men split into their pre-assigned teams and prepared themselves to storm the apartment block.

A small group of four men would remain behind, ready to close the blast doors if needed. There probably wasn't anyone in the other domes right now anyway, but they didn't want to take any chances.

Logan gave the signal, and they started their assault.

Jess and his men split off from Logan almost immediately, moving to the right side of the dome.

Moving silently, they forced open the first apartment door. Two of the men slipped in, prepared to capture or kill the inhabitants. Jess waved the rest of the men on; there were more apartments to enter.

Everything was going off without a hitch. No alarms. What had happened to Bethany? Had she changed her mind about alerting the station? Maybe she hadn't even found her way out of the mining dome, he realized. He was surprised how much relief the thought gave him; he wanted her to live with emotion bordering on desperation.

He and his men had just reached the fourth apartment when a blast rocked the station. Alarms shrieked to life around them.

"Get back to the central chamber and see if they need help," he yelled to two of his team members.

"We'll keep moving through the apartments. If you get the blast shields closed we'll be able to take them out one dome at a time."

He grunted as he pushed his way into the next apartment. There was a man stumbling out of his room. Without thinking Jess shot him, and a little girl screamed. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the wave of horror that washed through him. Grimly, he pointed the blaster at the child and her mother, directing them out into the hallway. There was already a small group of women and children huddling there against the wall; one of his men watched over them grimly. Would he be able to keep them safe? He turned to look down the hallway, assessing their next move.

He heard a scuffle, then the little girl ran by him. He jumped after her, missing the fabric of her nightshirt by inches. She darted around the corner and was gone. Already Jess could hear blaster fire breaking out in the distance. What if the Pilgrims managed to get organized and mounted an assault on their position? He and his fellow slaves were hopelessly outnumbered, but they did have one thing on their side, he thought. They were desperate. They weren't going back to slavery, even if it meant blowing apart the entire station.

Somehow the thought was small comfort in the face of a child running for her life…

* * * * *

Smoke billowed through the corridor as Bethany ran toward her apartment. Immediately the air scrubbers kicked into action, adding a high-pitched whine to the noise around her. Men were spilling out of their apartments, some pulling their pants on as they ran. Each and every one of their faces held an expression of grim purpose. They were preparing to fight for their lives.

She turned the corner to her father's apartment at a run, and flung herself against the door. It slid open. She stepped in and locked it behind her.

Now what?

Before she had time to think, someone was pounding on the door. She looked at the small monitor next to it, the one connected to the security camera, to see who it was. Amador, captain of the station's guards. She opened the door.

"Where is your father?" he asked, his voice tight.

Without thinking, she replied, "He's dead."

The words startled her; she should have lied. Now she would be caught. The thought was cut off as another explosion rocked the station.

Amadar cursed, running a hand through his hair.

"I didn't realize they'd gotten this far in yet," he said. "What happened?"

She looked at him, startled. Then it fell into place. Naturally, he assumed Bose had been killed by the slaves. Relief washed through her and a detached part of her mind noted that her entire body seemed to be trembling.

"I don't know," she said quickly. "I escaped the mining compound and came to warn everyone. By the time I got here he was already dead. They killed him in his bed," she added for good measure, trying to inject a sense of outrage into her voice.

"It's horrible," she added in a strained whisper.

Amadar looked at her sharply, then turned as another man called his name.

"Lock your door and stay hidden," he said quickly. "We're going to fight them. Be prepared to defend yourself."

He turned and ran down the hall. She closed the door behind him and leaned heavily against the wall. Suddenly her strength gave out, and she felt herself sliding to the floor.

It was too much. Tears welled up in her eyes, but before she could give in to hysterics there was more frantic beating on the door. She looked to the monitor, but didn't see anyone. The camera was sweeping across the hallway, and to her disgust she realized she must have activated a "search"

sequence. Some good the damn thing would do her now.

"Who is it?" she asked anxiously.

"Let me in!" a little girl's voice called. Bethany jumped up and opened the door, pulling in a child who could be no more than six or seven years old. She was a wearing a nightgown. Her brown braids had come loose, and her cheek was streaked with black soot. Bethany took one look at her and picked her up, hugging her fiercely.

"It's okay, I'll take care of you," she whispered into the little girl's ear. The child's body shook as she burst into tears. Bethany searched her memory, trying to remember the girl's name. Was it Sara? Dara?

Before she could ask there was more pounding on the door.

"It's me, Moriah!"

She set the girl down and opened the door a third time. The younger woman stumbled in, baby clutched in her arms.

"It's horrible out there," she said, voice high-pitched with fear. "I don't know what's happening.

They're fighting in the hallways, and someone came to my door and told me to run while I still could. I think that our men are losing control of the dome."

"The slaves are escaping," Bethany said quietly. "I tried to warn the elders, but I couldn't get here fast enough. Do you have any idea how many people have died? Are they hurting the children?"

"I have no idea. We've got to find a place to hide," Moriah said. "They were coming this way.

Where can we go?"

"I tried crawling through the air ducts earlier," Bethany said tightly. "But that won't work now. The air scrubbers are on. If we go up there now we might smother."

"There's no way in or out of the apartment except the front door, is there?"

"No," Bethany said slowly. "I think we're trapped here."

"Let's barricade ourselves in your bedroom," Moriah said in desperation. "They'll come looking for your father. Maybe they won't look there."

She and Bethany exchanged a long look, and Bethany smiled gently. They both knew her bedroom wouldn't be safe. There weren't any safe places left to hide.

"All right," Bethany said finally. She turned to the child, suddenly remembering her name. Zara. It was Zara.

"Zara, we're going to go back here now," she said, reaching out a hand. The girl took it slowly, and together they walked toward the back room. All they could do now was wait.

They sat in the back room, huddled, for what seemed like hours. Explosions continued to rock the station. Zara cried and moaned while the baby grew fussy. Moriah tried nursing her, but she was too afraid to eat. Bethany held Zara tightly, and watched her small clock.

Less than ten minutes had passed since they'd gone into the back room together, but those minutes had lasted a lifetime.

They started hearing noises out in their own hallway. Bethany and Moriah looked at each other, and finally Bethany spoke.

"I have to know what's going on," she whispered. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Don't," Moriah said. "It's too dangerous."

"It's dangerous no matter what we do," Bethany replied grimly.

She stood and walked shakily out into the main living room. The noises outside were growing louder. She could hear men calling to each other, and the sounds of blasters firing. The worst of the fighting seemed to be right outside the apartment.

She walked up to the door and looked at the small screen next to it. Now she could see into the hallway through her father's ridiculous security camera. Jess was standing directly outside the apartment door, face twisted with rage and triumph. His pressure suit hung in tatters around him. His arms, strong and roped with muscle, held a blaster pointed at the locking mechanism. Terrified, Bethany ran toward the back of the apartment; they would be inside any minute. She had no idea what would happen to them. Jess had told her the women wouldn't be hurt but she didn't believe him. She had seen the bloodlust in his eyes.

She and Moriah pushed into the closet, pulling an old blanket over themselves and the children.

Would the slaves realize they had found her father's apartment? Of course, she thought in disgust. The door was clearly labeled. Everything was labeled, she realized, shaking her head. How much easier had the Pilgrims made it for the slaves?

Yet another explosion rocked the apartment, and then they could hear the men's triumphant cries as they came inside. Jess' voice sounded above the others, giving an order.

"I want Bose," he said. "And I want him alive."

The men hooted in response, their voices sounding triumphant.

"Good news, Jess," one of them called. "Logan just radioed a message. The second dome is fully under our control. The men over there have surrendered; they're locking them up right now."

"Jess, get in here," another man called. "Bose is dead. Looks like someone did him in a while ago, a day at least"

"What?"

Bethany shivered in the closet, pulling Zara closer to her body.

"Stay quiet," she whispered to the child. Zara nodded.

Then the baby sneezed, and all hell broke loose.

Chapter Eight

Jess stood over Bose's body, his moment of triumph feeling empty. The bastard was already dead.

Someone had gotten to him first.

A baby sneezed.

"There's someone in the other room," he said, voice tight. Two of the men nodded, and went into the smaller room in back. They had already cleared out nearly 20 apartments; they had come to realized just how important it was to keep each other covered.

And instant later one of the men gave a startled yelp. Jess brought his blaster up, ready to fire. A small child streaked through the room, hair flying behind her, teeth grimly clenched. Jess gasped; he'd almost shot her. Just one more close call. One of the men took off after her.

"Zara!" a woman's voice called. Bethany's voice. The child was forgotten; Bethany was in there.

Hiding from him. He could feel a fierce grin spreading across his face, blood surged through his body to his groin.

The station was all but theirs; now she would be, too.

He stalked into the room to find two women huddled in the closet. One of them clutched a baby.

The other one was Bethany.

He nodded at Kresn.

"Take her and the kid out to the other prisoners," he said in a grim voice, pointing to the other woman. "I'll take care of this one."

Kresn gave him a knowing look.

"Remember, we aren't finished yet," he murmured.

"I know," Jess said. "I'll just be a minute."

Kresn reached down and pulled the other woman to her feet. He wrapped one hand around her upper arm, but she shook it off.

"I'll go with you," she said, her voice dignified and quiet. Kresn quirked an eyebrow and bowed to her mockingly.

"Of course," he said.

She stiffened, but didn't reply. Together they left the room.

Jess was left alone with Bethany. She was dirty. Her hair had come loose from its braids, flowing down her back in a river of brown waves. He'd dreamt of touching that hair, wrapping it around his fingers a thousand times; now she was his. He'd kill any man who tried to take her away from him, and he'd be damned if he'd tolerate her running away from him again.

"Get up," he said. She stood, eyes darting around the room. Looking for escape? He laughed at her mockingly.

"You aren't getting away this time," he said. "The station is ours. Your father is dead. How did that happen, by the way? I was looking forward to doing it myself…"

She shivered, then lifted her chin defiantly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "You must be mistaken."

"Is that why you were so friendly earlier?" he asked coolly. "You killed him, didn't you? You thought you were going to die. That's why you fucked me."

She refused to meet his gaze and he laughed. Without warning, she leapt for the door. He blocked her, wrenching a hand into her hair and pulling hard as she tried to knee him.

"Oh, no," he whispered. "We're not going to go through
that
again."

He wound his fist tightly into her hair and pulled her through the apartment. As much as he was enjoying his moment of triumph, there was more work to be done. By his estimates, there were probably at least ten Pilgrim men unaccounted for in this dome. His hand clenched her hair tighter. She yelped in pain once, but any sympathy for her evaporated when he thought about the way she'd run from him earlier.

She had endangered herself recklessly; it was unforgivable. She belonged to
him
now and he wouldn't tolerate losing her again. She would have to learn to behave from now on, to do as he told her.

As they came closer to the door, she started to struggle against him. There was a lingering smell of blaster fire and burnt flesh in the air. He shook her roughly, forcing her to keep moving. Then they were in the doorway. For one brief second her body pressed against his. Something in him snapped; he had to touch her. He pushed her up against the door-frame and kissed her. Not a tender kiss; his mouth claimed hers. He'd fought and killed to get her; now she was his. Forever. In that instant, he knew he'd never let her go.

She twisted against him, fighting and scratching to get free. She was panicked. He could feel it in the way her heart pounded. Her fingers clawed at his chest, and she ripped something loose. His necklace?

Before he could fully formulate the thought, incredible mind-bending pain flashed through him and he dropped to the floor. He rolled there, his entire being pulsing with deep red agony. She had caught him in the groin with her knee. Again.

He forced himself to breathe, to push the pain to the back of his mind. He had to stand. Had to get Bethany. Had to continue the fight. Ignoring the agony that washed over him, he stood and faced her.

She was still at the door-frame, trapped by her own hair. It had wound around the destroyed locking mechanism. Smiling, he pulled a large knife from a sheath on his leg. He'd taken it off a dead Pilgrim just moments earlier. He raised the knife, and she blanched, whimpering. Her green cat eyes turned to his, and she whispered, "Please, don't kill me."

He laughed, the adrenaline in his veins turning to lust. Despite the lingering pain in his groin, he could feel himself swell with need.

"Oh, I won't kill you," he said, his voice low and threatening. "I'm going to fuck you. We've got a lot of lost time to make up for."

Then he raised the knife and sliced it neatly through the locks of hair that held her to the door. She quivered against him and he felt the power that was his. He was hard and ready for her. Without thinking, he lowered his mouth to hers again. His tongue pushed roughly into her mouth, branding her. He took no chances this time. His arms held her so tightly against his body that she could barely breathe, let alone attack. Finally he pulled away.

As much as he'd like to take her right then and there, he had work to do. Lifting her easily, he threw her across his shoulder and started back down the hall. She'd be safe enough with the other women for now. They'd have plenty of time to finish what they'd started later.

* * * * *

Bethany and Moriah sat huddled together in the slave barracks. They were surrounded by women and children. Almost all of them, actually. As far as she could tell, only two women were missing and none of the children. Somehow they had all managed to survive the attack.

There were no men, however. No one seemed to know what was happening to the men, although rumors were running rampant.

They were all dead.

The other domes had been blown up.

They were going to be left here to starve to death.

They would be raped and then tortured; they would be sold as slaves.

The list went on and on…

It had been hours since the last group had been brought in. They had heard several explosions, including one massive one that had to have destroyed at least one of the domes. Hopefully not the greenhouse, Bethany thought. If they destroyed that there was no way they'd have enough food to survive. What wasn't grown in the greenhouse had been stored there.

Finally, the door opened. Two of the former slaves, heavily armed, stepped through. Behind them were Jess and Logan. The women quieted, holding each other and waiting to discover what their fate would be

"Your men are dead," Logan said, his voice devoid of emotion. A wave of alarm spread across the group of prisoners. A couple of the women burst out in tears, but others remained suspiciously dry-eyed.

More than one unhappy marriage had just been dissolved, Bethany thought.

"We didn't want to kill them all," Logan continued. "We had gathered them in the third dome and were holding them there. They found some weapons and attacked us. We had no choice but to blow the dome open to space."

Bethany shivered. It was a quick but unpleasant death; one she had feared all her life. Anyone who lived in space feared a loss of pressure.

"I tell you this because I want you to understand your situation," Logan continued. "We don't want to kill you. I consider many of you to be as much victims of your men as we were. I can see from some of your faces that you don't believe me. Ask yourselves this… If we didn't want to spare your lives, why didn't we just blow up the entire station? We had pressure suits and explosives; it would have been the safest and easiest way for us to make our escape.

"We didn't do that because we have a sense of humanity, of dignity," he continued. "Unlike your people, we respect life. But I speak for all of the former slaves here when I tell you I'm not willing to go back into captivity. If we have to kill all of you and your children to escape, we will. I would suggest that you be very, very careful over the next few days. You will do exactly as we tell you, and you will do it when we tell you. Do not push us."

The room fell silent, except for the occasional whimper from one of the captives. Bethany shivered; she had no doubt Logan meant what he said.

Jess stepped forward. His hair was slicked back with sweat, and she was struck again by the resemblance between him and Logan. Were they brothers? Had they known each other before arriving at the mining station? It was uncanny—they could have been twins.

"Bethany, you'll be coming with me," Jess said. All around her, the women started whispering. For a moment, she considered defying him, but the look on his face told her she would regret it if she did. She stood and started slowly walking toward Jess. Several gave her looks of sympathy, but even more gave her looks of hatred.

They thought she was part of the revolt, she realized. In that instant she knew she could never be safe with them again.

They would kill her.

Jess took her arm, leading her from the room. She soon found herself out of the barracks, surrounded by jubilant, newly-freed slaves. She knew the room well, had brought the food carts here every day and watched as the men donned their pressure suits, and cleaned up after them in this room.

Today was different, though. Today there were no guards.

Instead there were at least 75 men watching her with hungry eyes. She recognized many of them, but they looked different now—more threatening. Her eyes darted quickly around the room. In one corner of the room there were bodies, laid out in neat rows. Ten of them.

"They died in the revolt," Jess said quietly, his left hand holding her upper arm tightly. He walked them quickly through the watching crowd of men, right hand resting lightly on his blaster. "We were lucky; your men were taken almost completely off guard. Six of our dead died after we were almost finished. One of the guards got back in here with a control wand. They hadn't had their implants taken out yet."

How the hell had he gotten rid of his, she wondered? They must have removed it in the mine. She thought of all those pain pills she'd smuggled in to him and gasped.

"You used those drugs for your friends, to remove the implants."

"Of course I did," he said reasonably. "I was lucky enough to be unconscious when Bragan operated on me. They needed something for the pain. Every single one of those men had to go back to work after Bragan finished with them."

They passed out of the slave quarters as he spoke, then they were in the warren of storage rooms that made up the rest of the mining complex. Jess pulled her along, without speaking, down first one hall and then another. Finally he stopped in front of a room and opened the door.

"This is my room for now," he said. "You'll be staying here. I've installed a lock inside as well as outside. Nobody will be able to get in unless you let them."

"Aren't you worried that I'll lock you out?" she asked.

"You'll get hungry eventually," he replied lightly. He looked happier than she'd ever seen him, she thought wistfully, and even more handsome than before.

He pulled her into the room and the door slid shut behind them. She looked around, noting that he had stacked the room's contents—boxes of some kind of mechanical equipment—against one wall.

Along the other was a pallet made of several blankets layered together.

"Why have you brought me here?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. He gave a bark of laughter.

"Don't be naive," he said. "You're mine now. I've claimed you, and every man left on this asteroid knows it."

"So, you're going to rape me?"

Jess looked at her steadily.

"I'm not going to do anything you don't agree to," he said. "But I don't think you're going to fight me, not if you're honest with yourself. When you thought you were going to die—when there weren't any consequences to your actions—you wanted to be with me. What's different now?"

"You used me to betray my people," she whispered. He laughed again, shaking his head.

"
Your
people?" he asked. "Sounds to me like
your
people would have executed you just as soon as they found your father. They were going to kill you if I couldn’t go back to work, right? Excuse me if I'm off here, but can you explain exactly what about their treatment of you makes them
your
people?"

"What about the other women?" she asked, unwilling to acknowledge he was right. "The women aren't guilty…at least not all of them. What's going to happen to them?"

"Logan's working on that," he said. "We decided it would be hypocritical for me to tell the men they couldn't have them if I was taking you. But we're not animals, you know. We're not
Pilgrims
. I don't think any of us believes in slavery as an institution," he added mockingly. "We're a little too familiar with it. Logan wanted me to leave you alone, but I will never do that. I've known you were mine from the first moment I saw you. I'll be damned if I let anyone stand between us."

She closed her eyes, wondering what to say next. He seemed so different from the man she had come to know in the slave quarters. There he had been weak, polite. He was much larger standing up; she hadn't realized how tall he was. He towered over her by at least a foot.

He was massive, too. She'd seen his body, touched those muscles on his shoulders and thighs. But she'd had no idea what he could do with them. His arms were strong, roped with muscle. He'd used them to kill men. Men who would have killed her, she realized. Men who had killed slaves without thinking twice.