Joanna Wylde: The Price of Freedom

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.

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.