Joanna Wylde: The Price of Freedom

"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.

It was the same man who had taken the cart from her, the man with the penetrating stare. But he wasn’t able to look at anything right now.

Bragan, the slave who was also a doctor, guided the men into the storage area where they careful laid the man down on Bragan's own pallet. The doctor gestured for her to join him, then knelt by the man’s side, carefully checking his vital signs. Standing over both of them was her father, Bose. He stared at the injured man with distaste, and Bethany felt cold fear for the slave.

“How soon will he be able to work again?” Bose asked Bragan coldly. “If his recovery takes longer than two weeks, it’s cheaper to import someone new.”

“It’s hard to know with a head wound,” Bragan said, careful not to meet Bose’s gaze. Bethany studied the doctor’s face carefully, trying to determine how serious the man’s condition really was. “He could wake up at any minute, and the rest of his injuries don’t appear to be that serious.”

Bethany looked at the patient again, then bit her lip. His condition looked pretty bad to her. Bose wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of the slave if it was his cheapest option. The poor man had suffered through so much…he deserved a chance at life. Sudden determination to save him filled her.

“Father,” she said quietly. Everyone around her went still. It was rare for a woman to speak in the presence of men on the station, and even more rare for one to speak to Bose. “I believe this man’s survival may be a sign from the Celestial Pilgrim. How else would this man had lived, if our great leader didn’t reach his hand out to save him?”

She held her breath, waiting for her father’s reaction. Invoking the name of the Celestial Pilgrim, the prophet who had founded their sect a thousand years earlier, was not done lightly. Bose might react to her bold words with rage, or he might be moved by her bravery. His temper was too volatile to judge at times like these.

“How dare you speak of such a thing?” Bose asked her in a startled voice, the slave before him forgotten. “How are you worthy to speak the name of the Pilgrim?”

Bethany thought quickly. Bose was surprised, but didn’t seem that angry. What should she say to him?

“Father, I do not know what moved me to speak,” she said finally, trying to look as humble as she possibly could. “I can only imagine that the Pilgrim himself wishes this slave to live. Otherwise, why would he have compelled me to speak? I have never participated in such discussions before.” She held her breath once she was finished speaking, staring at the floor and murmuring a silent prayer to the powers above her for mercy.

Bose stood silent for several seconds, then glared around the room at the open-mouthed slaves and guards.

“It is true that you are not one of those women who speak out of place,” he said slowly. “But you are also a sinful woman. Why would the Pilgrim work through you?”

“I do not know, sir,” Bethany whispered, truly filled with fear now. What had she been thinking, speaking up for the slave? Had she lost her mind? Her situation was tenuous enough as things stood…

“I do not believe that the Pilgrim would use a vessel such as you to communicate with his children,”

Bose said finally. “But it is truly miraculous that this slave survived. If the Pilgrim wishes him to live, then he will heal him. But if you’re lying, and the man doesn’t heal, then you will die with him. Do you understand me, daughter? We cannot tolerate a woman who would lie about something so important.

You have two weeks.”

Bethany breathed a sigh of relief as Bose turned and strode out of the room, gesturing for the guards to follow him. She was left alone with Bragan and the slave. Apparently she was no longer worth guarding, she realized. She'd never been alone with any of the slaves before.

“This man may die,” Bragan said quietly. “You should have kept your mouth shut.”

"How bad is it?"

"If he doesn't have brain damage or a skull fracture it won't be bad at all," Bragan replied. "I have no way of knowing whether he does or not, though. Not without better equipment than we have here. All I can do is treat the obvious wounds and try to keep him from getting an infection."

"Do you need anything?"

He gave a harsh bark of laughter, and she blushed. It was a foolish question.

"I need all kinds of things," he said finally. "But I doubt you can get them for me. How about some painkillers? If he wakes up he isn't going to be feeling very well."

"I don't think I can get that for you," she said softly. "My father has some, but he keeps a close eye on them. He would never give any to me."

"I didn’t think you'd be able to help," he replied with bitter humor. "I assume you're willing to help take care of him, given the little bargain you just made with your father?"

Bethany looked at the doctor and nodded. He looked tired, and a little sad. He had been friendly enough in the days since she had started working with the slaves, showing her supplies and helping lift the heavy trays of food from the communal kitchen. Now his eyes were filled with compassion, and she realized he didn't believe the man was going to live.

“What’s his name?” she asked, turning to the man again. He hadn’t moved since he’d been brought up from the mines, not even when the doctor had pried his eyes open and gazed at his pupils.

Bragan seemed startled by her question. With a wry smile, he said, “I have no idea. I try not to get to know the new slaves any more, because they don’t last very long. It’s hard enough to survive, let alone waste energy on friends.”

“I know what you mean,” she said bitterly. Bragan lifted one eyebrow questioningly.

“That’s a strange sentiment for a young woman like you,” he said slowly. “Although I’ve noticed the guards don’t treat you with much respect…”

“Why should they?” Bethany asked darkly. “My husband is dead, and I have no children. I don’t serve any purpose here and they all know it.”

“Couldn’t you get married again?”

“No,” she said, closing her eyes against a sudden rush of tears that threatened. “You don’t understand. I can’t have children. My husband had two other wives, both of whom had children. There’s something wrong with me. No Pilgrim would ever take a woman like me to wife, and there’s not much else for me here,” she added. “I was living on borrowed time before this.”

“I see,” Bragan said quietly, looking uncomfortable. Changing the subject, he said, “Let’s get him cleaned up. Want to help? I’m sure he’ll be more interested in a woman’s touch than mine. He might still be able to hear, so you should speak to him. Encourage him to wake up. It just might save your life.”