Mike looked embarrassed, but his expression quickly changed to delight when Sandra suddenly grabbed an old rain slicker hanging on a hook nearby, huge on her tiny frame. She motioned for all of them to close their eyes. She quickly scrounged around the kitchen, finding what she needed. She struck a metal spoon against a cooking pan, and they opened their eyes. She had quickly transformed herself into a clown. She plopped an old mop on top of her head for hair. An apple perched on her nose and she cleverly painted her face using catsup and other condiments.
For the next few minutes she entertained the four of them with pantomimes of a hungry clown trying to feed herself, but she kept stumbling and falling. The food always seemed out of her reach. The mop head kept falling into her eyes, so she’d turn in circles trying to grab the handle until she fell, dizzy. Members of her audience laughed so hard they had a hard time catching their breath. They clapped enthusiastically and gave her a standing ovation. She bowed low and promptly fell on her rear end.
As soon as Brogan stopped laughing, she wiped tears from her eyes and said to Sandra, “You obviously have not lost your acting ability. Fantastic show.”
The three seamen agreed and suggested an evening’s entertainment for crew members might be warranted. Sandra bowed her agreement. The women were shown to their quarters, exhausted from the long day.
“Sandra,” Brogan said to her as they got ready to turn into their bunks, “you have incredible talent. It’s the first time I’ve seen you perform. Thanks for allowing me to see you in action. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. I needed that.”
Sandra nodded her head in thanks and crawled into her bunk. It felt good to perform. Maybe her acting days were not finished. Someday, after the war, she might still do what she loved the most: acting. Before she fell asleep, as happened every night, her mind replayed the three years before she lost her ability to speak.
Chapter Four
A Traitor Becomes a Patriot
Emperor David Priest was livid at news of his troops defeat at the Battle of Laredo. Unfortunately, Sandra received the brunt of his wrath. One of Priest’s trusted aides received an electronic message from a trooper who escaped from the battle. Having been at the receiving end of the emperor’s wrath before, the aide sent the message of the defeat via vid-phone, rather than delivering it personally.
The emperor and his consort were just finishing a leisurely breakfast in their suite at the top of the Boston glass pyramid when the vid-phone chimed. David did not want servants around, afraid of assassination. As Sandra poured him a cup of coffee, the somber message arrived. Before she could move out of his way, David grabbed her wrist, his grip getting tighter and tighter as he watched the aide on the vid-phone shakily tell the emperor his soldiers had been totally routed.
“David, you’re hurting me,” Sandra said, trying to remain calm, knowing the slightest increase in volume of her voice might cause him to explode into a violent rampage.
Without warning, Priest stood up, picked her up, and threw her across the room. She landed on the deep, plush carpet, unhurt but shaken. She looked over at the emperor. His face was bright red, the tendons on his neck standing out in rigid cords, his fists tightly clinched, and his eyes glazed with rage. He was out of control. She knew from experience the closest person became the focus of his rage whenever he lost control.
Before Sandra scrambled up and away from him, he strode over and picked her up, grabbing her by the throat, his strength incredible. She frantically scratched his face with her hands and finally managed to kick him hard in the groin. He groaned and doubled over in pain as he dropped her. She raced for the bedroom door, managing to shut and lock it before he struggled to his feet.
Frantically she changed out of her black lingerie into a temperature adjusting jumpsuit, tucking her long hair into a black, man’s wig. She grabbed an emergency backpack hidden at the back of her closet and escaped through a hidden door inside the closet, something she discovered a few months earlier.
This was the last straw. He abused her one too many times. Neither revenge, power or money were worth getting killed for. As soon as she entered the tunnel, she quickly added some make-up to finish building a disguise which gave her the appearance of a dark-skinned young man. Her hands shook, but she put on stage make-up so many times, it was second nature. She slipped on gloves, a parka and heavy boots hidden in the tunnel and threw her T-chip into an air conditioning grate above her head.
Unbeknownst to Priest, when she pretended to be a BL rebel, she had a T-chip pouch made in her thumb. She also had several forged T-chips made for new identities in case she ever needed them. Quickly she moved through the tunnel, emerging in the hallway outside the emperor’s office, doing her best to avoid showing her face to the vid-cameras in the hallway by pulling the parka hood around her face. She silently moved toward the transport tube and down to the ground floor.
It was still winter in Boston, part of the nine months’ cycle of extreme cold, so the blast of cold air hitting her almost caused her to lose her footing. She quickly moved into an alleyway for shelter as she inserted a forged chip in her thumb and boldly walked toward the edge of the dome about a hundred feet away.
Swiping the T-chip, she entered the dome and lost herself in crowds of people living in the weather-tight sanctuary. She disposed of the distinctive parka, gloves and boots in a trash recycler. She pulled a light-weight black men’s jacket out of her backpack and a black beret, making sure her long hair was still tucked inside the wig. She knew she needed to change her disguise again soon.
Shortly after she found the secret tunnel she made an excursion under the dome and used cash to rent a tiny apartment under one of her forged T-chip identities: a grad student from UT Austin, living in Boston while doing research on climate change.
Before officially becoming the emperor’s consort, Sandra hid millions of dollars in cash in dozens of safety deposit boxes across the country. As she traveled with her shows, she frequently changed disguises and positioned the secured boxes, using forged identities, so she was prepared for any emergency. She made large cash deposits whenever she performed in each area. The mind able to recall copious amounts of data in a stage script also allowed her to remember exactly the disguise she used for opening each deposit box. She also rented small apartments in various names for her forged identities.
It wasn’t long before she arrived in front of the Boston apartment. She swiped her T-chip and entered. The apartment was spartan, especially compared to the luxurious quarters of the emperor. But she’d lived in worse. At least she was away from Priest.
How could I be so stupid? I wanted to believe I was in love with him. I even killed for him. Now look at me. On the run. If anyone finds out who I really am, I’m as good as dead.
She fortuitously outfitted each apartment with a vid-phone and vid-screen in the same name as the disguise. Now she turned on the vid-screen to a news channel to see what if anything the emperor said about her disappearance.
“…and our esteemed emperor’s aide is saying the glorious victory over Book Liberators in Laredo will cripple them for years to come. In other news, the exalted emperor reports Consort Sandra has suddenly become ill. While she will not be at his side for several weeks, he wants to assure his subjects physicians tell him she will be fine. She just needs quiet and lots of rest. Apparently, she is suffering from nervous exhaustion from her tireless efforts to support the emperor’s causes.”
She laughed as she was reminded again of Priest’s paranoia. But she had to be very careful. No doubt the emperor would send his henchmen looking for her. He did not like being made to look the fool.
Before she turned off the vid-screen, she heard a crackling sound and the screen went black for an instant before another voice was heard. On the screen appeared an old American flag with an alien looking warrior, dressed in white, superimposed over it.
“I am the White Warrior, speaking on behalf of Book Liberators, and coming to you
direct from Texas Province. Contrary to what the despot Priest is telling you, the rebels annihilated his soldiers at the battle for Laredo. More than 3,000 of his soldiers died, 1,000 were wounded and the rest captured. Do not despair, citizens of America. Book Liberators will continue to fight for your freedoms: freedom of religion, freedom to read, freedom to write, freedom to speak and freedom to live as you choose. God bless America. Book Liberators and the White Warrior signing off and returning you to your regularly scheduled programming.”
Sandra sat in stunned silence and then started to laugh. If Priest was mad before, this message was going to push him over the top. It’s a good thing she left when she did. Sandra turned off the vid-screen and walked over to the small food synthesizer and ordered a salad and a tofu burger. While she waited, she considered what her next steps might be. She had to lay low for a while in Boston and hope the emperor’s lackeys didn’t find her.
The American Empire covered a lot of territory. With the BL rebels distracting the emperor, he might give up the hunt for her eventually, figuring she wasn’t worth his time. But Boston wasn’t safe. After a couple of days, she would head west. After her betrayal of the council, she knew the Book Liberators would never forgive her, but maybe she could do something to support their cause. Her whole attitude toward them totally changed after living with Priest.
The takeover from the former Prime Minister had been solely for revenge because various of their family members had been killed under PM Altero’s policies.
She heard a ding and carefully pulled food from the synthesizer. She sat at a small table as she ate, planning carefully her next steps. She was alone, without a friend in the world, but it wasn’t the first time. She’d managed before, and she’d manage again. She just needed to figure out how to make amends for her crimes.
After her escape from the pyramid, she stayed in Boston only long enough to figure out the best way to move away from the emperor’s enclave. She was already tired of being on the run. No matter how good her disguises, Sandra constantly looked over her shoulder, afraid Priest’s henchmen would find her. She moved every few months to a different metropolitan area, figuring she would be harder to find in crowded cities than in rural areas. Each time she moved she changed her identity and her disguise.
Emotionally, she struggled to deal with the terrible guilt of her betrayal of the Book Liberators council. She supposed she should feel guilty about her role in Prime Minister Altero’s assassination, too, but she wasn’t yet ready to assume that guilt. He was a tyrant, but he wasn’t in the same league as Priest.
And that’s where her guilt came from. She was so good at reading people. Her acting profession made it an essential skill. How could she have been so blind to Priest’s psychosis? Allowing herself to get caught in his web of cruelty, power grabbing and deceit just added another layer of guilt. At least she was out of his abusive clutches for now.
It wasn’t yet dawn, three years after the BL betrayal, and she currently lived in Austin City. She jerked awake from another nightmare. There were very few nights she did not struggle to wake up from the same nightmare. In it, she traipsed through deep grass in a hot, humid area. She heard imperial soldiers crashing through the grass behind her. She was exhausted. Sweat ran down her face and between her breasts, the salty drops stinging her eyes. She could hardly see the sun was so bright. She seemed to struggle through ever-deepening grass until she could not go another step. Suddenly, the scene changed, and she stood in front of a bramble covered cave. Her hands began to bleed as she frantically tried to remove the brambles. She had to see what was inside the cave.
The nightmare changed from daylight to darkest night. The brambles disappeared and see could see only the menacing, dark mouth of a cave. She tried to back away from the cave, terrified of what might be inside. Five people suddenly appeared in front of her, screaming, covered in mud. They had no faces. Tears and blood streaked down the mud caking the grotesque parodies. They struggled against menacing shadows holding them in place. Manacles hung from their hands, reaching for her, grasping, stretching, fingernails growing into lethal daggers as she shrank back in terror.
At this point in her nightmare, she always started to toss and turn, struggling to wake up. But one of the prisoners began to fight, her movements suddenly smooth and lethal as she attacked the shadowy figures around her. One after another, the shadows began to fall dead. She tried to move away from the scene, sure she was the real target of the attacks. But her feet seemed stuck in concrete. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure lose his shackles and run off into the dark.
Two other figures seemed frozen in place. The one prisoner who fought so incredibly well would kill her if she got too close. There was the unmistakable crack and sizzle of a laser rifle. At this point in the nightmare she always awakened with a sharp cry, her bedding twisted around her and soaked with her terror sweats.
Trembling, heart racing, she would sit up, trying to force wisps of the nightmare to fade. But they refused to fade completely until she said the names of the people she betrayed: Bryan, Juan, Brogan, Marco, Allison and, finally, her attacker, Janice.
It didn’t seem to matter she now knew Juan, Marco, Brogan and Allison survived. Her betrayal ate at her soul because of the deaths of Bryan and Janice. She did not learn of Bryan’s fate until after she joined a Chicago BL cell. Because she did such a good job of developing each new identity, a background check did not reveal who she really was.
Listening to BL cell members talk, the remaining council members had become heroes to them, their names always said with great reverence. Their exploits, she was sure, blown far out of promotion to their actual deeds. But as rumors began to circulate about the White Warrior, almost a year after her betrayal of Priest, she somehow knew it had to be Brogan. When she saw her at the Basilica, and from conversations she had with Marco in NY Province, it was obvious she was the charismatic leader of Book Liberators. How Brogan survived prison and managed to escape became part of the mystic surrounding her.
Sandra desperately tried to find more information on the rebels. She needed to do something to make up for her crimes. Being a BL cell member was not enough. She cheered with other cell members when they heard more details about the rebel rout of the emperor’s soldiers at the Battle of Laredo.
Rumors abounded that rebel leaders were headquartered in the Laredo area, but she could not move out of her lethargy and depression to figure out a way to help them.
At a BL meeting the leader mentioned something about rumors of an elite rebel force, named after the White Warrior. She tried to unobtrusively ask questions, but all she got were more rumors of the rebels being trained for the unit, apparently modeling their tactics after the original White Warrior who fought so valiantly over the past few years.
Now a spark ignited within her. She knew what to do. She would become a White Warrior and defeat her inner demons while fighting against the emperor. She signed up for a karate class and began to drive herself to the limits of her physical capabilities. It was almost a year before she believed she was physically ready. Next, she had to come up with a disguise and an identity to slip inside the rebel forces. She knew what she wanted to do was probably stupid. If they discovered who she was, execution was a real possibility. But at least maybe, just maybe, she could make up for the terrible things she did.
Early spring, 2126, she finalized her disguise. She shaved off her long black hair to be completely bald. Using make-up, she added a scar to her face running from the corner of her left eye all the way down to the corner of her mouth, giving her a threatening look. She added a contact to the left eye, which made it look like a glass eye, and changed the dark brown color of the right eye to a brilliant blue with another contact. Exercise and training added twenty pounds of muscle to her small frame. She looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize herself and didn’t think anyone else would either.
She called herself Josie Avera. She forged identity papers and moved to a di
fferent BL group. She built up a past for Josie and memorized it. With some of her secreted funds, she purchased an old motorcycle from one of the members. A local mechanic replaced most of the engine and fixed it up, so it purred. She painted the cycle white. She bought herself a white jumpsuit and with BL members help found a laser rifle on the black market. She spent hours practicing with it until she was a crack shot. She bought military grade knives she practiced throwing until she became an expert and hit anything she aimed at.
She was ready. Now all she needed to do was find the rebels. Early on a Monday morning, she headed for Laredo on her bike. She had plenty of emergency supplies in her saddlebags. No one saw her leave. She had avoided getting close to anyone for fear of hurting them.
Two hours into the trip, she pulled over to the side of the road and munched on a protein bar and drank some water. She saw a few hobos on the road but after a good look at her, they quickly moved on. She packed her laser gun in the saddle bags, but her knives prominently showed in boleros across her chest, with more knives hidden in her boots. She wore a cracked helmet on her head, with “White Warrior,” painted on it and a lightning bolt. A white leather jacket had the same insignia on the back.
Another two hours on the road and she saw some tents and the town of Laredo in the distance. She stopped and turned off her bike, took off her helmet and looked around, not sure what her next move should be. How was she going to contact the rebels?
As she listened, she heard the roar of motorcycles to the west. It sounded as though it came from just behind a nearby bluff. She got off her bike and moved carefully until she was near the bluff. She lay on her stomach and inched forward until she looked over the edge.
She’d found them! What an awesome sight. Several hundred white motorcycles at the bottom of the bluff practiced maneuvers. She pulled out a pair of old-fashioned binoculars from the inside pocket of her jacket and watched. She started to move back carefully away from the bluff when she felt the prick of a knife on her neck. She froze.
The Slave Warrior Page 4