Chains of Freedom

by Selina Rosen

  "Brave heart, Kirsty," she said out loud to herself. "You are going to be one rich, blue-eyed Governor." She tried to laugh, but it got caught in her throat and she almost choked. How many people had died today because of her? People she'd known . . . David. So what? David was a sap. He fell for it all—hook, line and sinker . . . Because he loved me. Because he trusted me in spite of what his friends told him. He stuck his neck out for me. He was willing to give up everything for me, and I made a fool of him. Then I killed them all. David, RJ, and all the others. A cold chill went down her spine as she realized just what she'd become. She was evil.

  She'd set David up right from the start. She'd played on his emotions and his naïveté. Her every move had been calculated and cold. At the time she originally chose her course, she told herself that it wouldn't bother her. But now that there was no going back, she was appalled by her callousness, cruelty, and capacity for treachery. The only evil in the night was herself. She felt unclean, as if a black cloak of wickedness were swallowing up her soul.

  There had been several points at which she'd made choices. Good or bad, righteous or wicked, Reliance or Rebellion. She now realized that she'd made the wrong choices, but it was too late to do anything about it.

  She'd thought she would be able to go through life without a single backward glance, but now she wasn't sure that she'd be able to live with all she'd done.

  David ran on. Running on nothing but willpower and adrenaline. For the second time in his life, he was running for all he was worth, without direction. And once again it was fate and another human body that stopped him. As he fell, he saw a flying sliver of silver. He'd been in combat long enough to know what it was. He grabbed wildly and caught it. When he turned to face the person he'd run into, pain and night, fever and guilt couldn't hide Kirsty's face. She was every bit as shocked as he was. Without hesitation, he aimed the weapon at her head.

  "I know it's not good enough, David. But I'm sorry." She held open palms out to him. "They made me do it, David. I was afraid."

  "RJ was right about you," David hissed, "and now, she's probably dead."

  "I'm sorry, David . . ." Kirsty cried. This time, her tears were real.

  "RJ saved my life more times that I care to count. She told me things that I never knew. She carried me on her back for hours, and she never asked for anything in return because she was my friend. But you fixed that, Kirsty. I was a fool who got caught up in my own importance, and you knew just how to play on that." His finger started to close on the trigger.

  "Please, David, I . . . There's enough money here for us both to live well. Think about it . . ."

  "I don't want to think about it, Kirsty. If I think about it, I might enjoy killing you." He fired and the bolt hit her between the eyes. She fell, dead, but David didn't feel any better. Just then, he doubted that he would ever feel better.

  Headlights appeared down the road. David ducked back into the woods and ran. He didn't look back.

  It had been three days since the attack. RJ was alive, but still unconscious, and there was nothing to indicate that she would be coming out of the coma any time soon.

  Her fingers didn't twitch; even her right arm was still. Her eyes stayed closed and didn't seem to be moving. No mutterings left her lips. She was unnaturally still and silent. While her vital signs improved daily, no one was reassured, they may have saved the body, but that didn't mean they had saved RJ.

  The weather outside was a good reflection of the spirits inside—cold, wet and dark. The rebels had plenty of food and water, and the accommodations were better than any they'd had in Alsterase. There was ample booze and plenty of movies, but try as they might they couldn't erase the memories of that night. It was all too fresh and too horrible.

  The smoke from the smoldering embers of what was left of Alsterase added to the gloom of the skies. The only light came from the reflection of the flames on the clouds and was anything but comforting.

  The cries of the wounded could be heard throughout the fort despite the best efforts of the medics in charge. The medics did all they could, but many of the injured needed doctors. There were no doctors here. Doctors were rich; they had everything they could want, so they didn't rebel. Topaz was the only one who knew all of the medical techniques, and that was only because he could access the information from Marge. Their equipment was limited, and there was just so much that one man could do, even when that one man was Topaz. Some had been so bad that Topaz loaded them with painkillers and let them go gently into the night.

  Every day brought more death, but even horror eventually ends. Today for the first time everyone seemed stable. Maybe the rest would make it.

  Topaz looked in on RJ. Levits was with her. He wouldn't leave. He hadn't slept properly, and he barely ate. He just sat there talking to her, begging her to live.

  When he'd finished crying that first night, he'd gathered himself together and helped organize the air and sea evacuation of Alsterase. When everyone still alive was out, he sat down in RJ's room, and he hadn't left for anything but a call of nature since.

  Topaz didn't pretend to know why, but for some reason the fall of Alsterase seemed to have tied Levits to RJ. As if he expected to live only as long as she did, and Topaz thought that was probably true.

  "Topaz, RJ's not just a GSH, is she?" Levits asked.

  Topaz was a little startled, as he'd been in the room for nearly ten minutes before Levits acknowledged his presence.

  "No. Stewart was a geneticist, a cybernetics genius, and a tinkerer. RJ is Stewart's child. And I don't just mean because he created her. He took an Argy woman's egg and impregnated it with his own sperm. He genetically engineered the fetus, and implanted that heart when the time was right. That heart is far stronger than anything he could have structured genetically. He left her emotions intact; let her be her own woman. RJ is in a class all her own."

  "He should have been dead, Topaz," Levits said in a faraway tone. "There was a hole in him you could have put both fists into. He willed himself to live long enough to save her. It's hard to believe he's dead. Hard to believe any of them are dead. Sandy . . ." His voice caught in his throat. "She was everything I ever wanted in a woman—beautiful, bright, cunning, and always ready with a joke. She could always make me laugh. I love . . . loved Sandra. I guess everyone knew that. I had my time with her, just like half the men in Alsterase did." He smiled. "She made me feel special, though. For the time that we were together, she made me feel like I was the only one. I could have made her love me, too, if it weren't for David. She loved him, and he scorned her. Now he's killed her. If there is a God in heaven, then let that bastard be dead, too." He was crying again. He had been crying off and on for three days. It didn't annoy Topaz; Levits had a right to his tears.

  Mickey walked in quietly, closing the door behind him. "How is she?" he asked.

  "There's no change," Topaz answered.

  Thank God for Mickey. Since he was the only member of the inner circle who was not dead, too busy, or otherwise incapacitated, the burden of running the whole show had fallen on his shoulders. In the wake of the disaster, he had made sure that all the day-to-day business was taken care of. Simple things that no one else thought about. He assigned sleeping quarters, made sure the meals were prepared and eaten, and the bodies quietly cremated. He tried to raise morale by having Marge show a variety of light and amusing movies, and edited the public reports on RJ's condition. Tragedy had changed them all, and it had brought Mickey's leadership abilities to the surface. It had forced him to become all that he could be, and he had come through with flying colors. Everyone had always thought of him as RJ's pet, believing she kept him around out of compassion. No one would make the mistake of taking him for granted in the future.

  Mickey walked over to the bed and stepped up on the stool placed there for his use. "The scars still look bad," he said.

  That was another strange thing that Topaz had noticed. Mickey always spoke in full sentences these days.
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br />   "I expect they will heal in time," Topaz said.

  "What's that?" Mickey asked excitedly.

  "What?" Topaz leaned forward and looked where Mickey was pointing.

  RJ's arm was jerking again.

  Levits dried his face and looked.

  Her eyes flew open, and she sat straight up.

  RJ was back!

  She rubbed at her Pronuses-dry eyes, trying to regain her vision. When she reached to push her hair back, she found it a good six inches longer. She took a deep, cleansing breath and winced. Her chest hurt, her vision was fuzzy, and her brain felt heavy and dull. After a few moments, her vision cleared, and she saw Topaz, Mickey and Levits. Levits looked as if he had been crying. She couldn't be sure of the scattered images that filled her head.

  "Whitey? . . . Sandy?" Her voice barely worked.

  "Not just now . . ." Topaz started.

  "Oh, God! No!" She started to cry, and found herself in Levits arms. "Poley?"

  "The GSH took Poley's head," Mickey said sadly.

  "I'm going to Capitol and kill that bitch." She pushed away from Levits and jumped out of bed. Her knees gave way, and Levits had to catch her.

  "RJ, that thing cut your heart out of your chest. You're not going to be able to do anything for awhile," Topaz said gently.

  "God damn it!" she cried. "She built that damn thing to kill me; I know she did. Instead, it just killed everyone I care about." The tears fell, and this time it was she who clung to Levits. A few moments later she wiped her eyes and ran her hands over her scars. A lost look crept over her face. "Where's my chain?"

  Till then, Levits hadn't thought about it. Now he realized that he hadn't seen it in her room. He realized how naked and vulnerable she looked without it. "I don't know, RJ. I didn't see it, but I was in a hurry because of the fire."

  "It took it, just like it took my brother's head," she said with conviction. The significance of Levits' remark hit her suddenly. "You saved me?"

  He shrugged.

  "Well, at least I was right about you." She couldn't stop her tears, so she buried her face in the shoulder Levits offered. "David!" She spat "No, I did this myself . . . You tried to warn me, Topaz."

  "It's not your fault, RJ. No one blames you. Don't blame yourself. Just get well so we can go kill the bastards," Levits whispered.

  "I want him," she cried. "I need him. God, why didn't he stay still? It hurts . . ." Her voice was drowned in choking sobs.

  Topaz motioned to Mickey, and he followed him out of the room.

  "Well, she's alive," Topaz said, trying to sound happy about it. He was happy, but . . .

  "She's going to hurt for a long time." Mickey looked back at the door. "They're both basket cases. What are we going to do? The minute she feels half-assed better, she's going to go off and try to kill everyone. Levits will only encourage her. I don't want to lose them, too."

  "We'll just have to make sure that they don't do anything stupid." Suddenly, Topaz became very interested in the floor. He dropped to all fours and began a frenzied search, muttering to himself.

  Mickey didn't even blink. He just walked away shaking his head. He had work to do.

  David hurt, too. He had finally given in to the fever and lay down by a stream to rest. When he woke up, he set his arm as well as he could using broken branches and strips torn from his shirt for a splint. It took the last of his strength, and as he lay back, panting, he passed out again.

  The next time he woke up, dawn was just breaking. His fever seemed to be gone. He felt as if he'd slept a long time, but had no idea exactly how long. It could have been hours, from the smell of his clothes. Hell, it could have been days. Physically, he felt better.

  God only knew the extent of the damage he'd done. He didn't even know where he was. Kirsty was dead, his arm was broken, and his sole accomplishment was to have led a group of brave men and women to their deaths. He had to know the worst. He had to get back to Alsterase. The first thing was to stop walking in circles. A road, any road, and then directions.

  RJ was up and out of her room, but she was far from healed. She was walking the wall, as was often the case since she'd emerged. The wall enclosed what had been the yard of the prison. From this position, armed guards of centuries past watched the prisoners taking their exercise. RJ used the wall to look at Alsterase.

  Seven days after the holocaust, the fires had finally died. The rain probably helped, but more than likely there just wasn't anything left to burn. Alsterase was nothing but a charred ruin.

  She walked in a short, white robe, seemingly oblivious to the chill in the air. Her hair now reached the middle of her back. She didn't bother to cut it. Hell, she didn't even bother to comb it. Once a day someone talked her into bathing, and Levits combed her hair. She didn't even notice.

  She wasn't going to make it. She'd lost too much. At first she tried. Sometimes she even thought she'd be OK. Then she had to go to bed, alone.

  Without Whitey, living just isn't worth the effort.

  She pulled her robe tighter, but the chill she tried to block didn't come from outside. Home's all burned up, freak. She gave up trying to get her shit together and just wallowed in her depression. Unlike the ancient guard, her patrol only succeeded in keeping people out.

  As David neared Alsterase, he was greeted by the foul stench of burned and rotted flesh, and he knew before he saw the burned husk of the city that his worst fears had been realized. The stench and the flies increased as he walked deeper and deeper into the city.

  He tried not to look too closely at the bodies, for fear he might see someone he'd recognize. The hotel was burned to the ground, as was the Golden Arches. The stench was much worse in this part of town. The realization that these stinking piles of flesh were comprised of his comrades' remains made his stomach lose its hold on the river snails he'd eaten for lunch. When he could, he ran the rest of the way to the docks, deliberately blinding himself to the carnage.

  Most of the boats had been destroyed. It was dusk when he found a sound boat with a nearly full tank of alcohol. He checked for the hundredth time to be sure he wasn't being followed, and headed for the island.

  Mickey was shuffling quarters again. Those wounded who were well enough were going to their new quarters, and those still in bad shape were moved so that they could see the viewscreen to ease their boredom.

  Morale was higher now that RJ could be seen walking around. It helped that there had been no more deaths. The noise caused by all this organized confusion was nearly deafening, so the sudden silence fairly screamed. Mickey turned and searched out the cause.

  Tattered clothing, a ragged beard that didn't cover the cut on his cheek, and his arm in a sling, it was undoubtedly David Grant. If nothing else, there was simply no one else who could have gotten through the security system alive. Mickey felt the waves of hatred and watched as the muttering started and seemed to propel the crowd toward David with murderous intent.

  "Enough!" Mickey screamed, and they were abruptly silent. He continued quietly. "There has been enough killing for now. No one man can be blamed for what happened. The Reliance did it. David was just a patsy." Mickey looked at David, and was surprised to see the same lost, blank look on his face that RJ wore these days.

  "Come on," he said, and David followed him. Mickey led him to the showers. "I'll get you a clean suit of clothing."

  "Mickey . . . is RJ OK?" David asked, almost afraid to find out.

  "No! She's not OK," Mickey hissed. "She's barely alive. Many weren't so lucky. Few got out of this like you did, with barely a scratch." He started to leave.

  "Mickey, I . . ."

  "I'll send someone to put a proper cast on your arm." He was gone.

  The 'someone' who put the cast on David's arm took great delight in re-breaking the bone so it could be properly set. Still, it felt better after it was all over. Better than it had since it was broken. David went in search of Mickey, but found Topaz instead. Topaz wasn't surprised to see David, so David
assumed he must have already spoken to Mickey.

  "You look well," Topaz said as if it were a crime.

  "I want to see RJ," David said.

  "She won't want to see you."

  "Why don't you let RJ be the judge of that," David said hotly. He stopped abruptly and got himself under control. "I'm sorry, Topaz. You have every right to hate me."

  "I don't hate you, David. Admittedly, you're not my favorite person right now, but I don't hate you. You're doing a good enough job of that all by yourself. Come on, I'll take you to RJ. She's walking the wall again. She usually does these days." Topaz led the way.