Chains of Freedom (37 page)

"So? You're not RJ!" someone screamed out.

"No," RJ stepped forward through the crowd. "But I am."

The crowd went wild for a moment, and then there was absolute silence.

In that silence, David continued. "We have supplies. We have weapons. We have leadership. We have a cause, and we know our enemies. The Reliance tells us we are free . . ." Damn it, he had nothing to follow that up with. He looked around in a panic, and his eyes rested on RJ's chain. He smiled. "If we are free, then I say that it is time that we break these chains of freedom." In that moment, David won them heart and soul. "Who is our enemy?"

"The Reliance!"

"Who will we destroy?" He took a deep breath and waited.

"The Reliance!"

"Zone by zone. Planet by planet. We will trample our oppressors till all that remains of them is a black mark on the pages of history. Down with the Reliance!"

"DOWN WITH THE RELIANCE!"

"Long live the New Alliance! Strength to the Rebellion!"

"LONG LIVE THE NEW ALLIANCE! STRENGTH TO THE REBELLION!"

David's face was hot and sweaty. He looked out at the enthusiastic crowd. He drank in the power and began to change.

At RJ's command they began to fortify the city. Rubble was stacked into barricades in strategic areas all over the city, and the people were armed. In what was left of the foundation of an ancient building, using rubble and whatever could be stolen or scrounged, they constructed a training area. One of RJ's design.

Then the training began.

The training ground was a maze of sorts. Traps were built into it. None, of course, were deadly. But to fall prey to one was to admit to simulated death.

RJ changed the configuration of the maze and the traps on a daily basis, so that there was no way to benefit from knowledge gained the day before.

She split each group into three groups of ten. Each group was given the same goal, but began at a different door. If you ran into another group, you had to fight them to the "death." Death was indicated by a mark on the head or torso with a marking pen. The group that made it to their final goal with the most party members alive won free dinner and drinks for the evening. This not only gave them incentive, but promoted teamwork.

Part of the maze had once been an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and RJ watched the goings on from her perch on the high-diving tower. Every once in awhile, if she thought a group was taking too long at a particular spot, she would throw a rubber ball into their area. If they didn't move on in sixty seconds, she counted them all dead.

RJ called it a training center.

The people called it "The Maze Of Death."

The maze was not their only form of training. Recruits were also given classes on the use, care and repair of their weapons, and they were trained in hand-to-hand combat. Those training as soldiers got up with the sun, and their day started with a brisk, three-mile run. It always ended with a speech from David.

It had been two months since David gave his first speech. Now there was not a man, woman or child that was not in some way contributing to the cause. Those who weren't training to become the fighting force were helping to build barricades and scrounge materials. Those unable to contribute in any other way were given the job of cleaning up.

RJ never quite got over her military training. She believed in order and cleanliness. She believed that pride in community would strengthen their spirit. She believed that working together towards a common goal would help them fight together in the future. Watching them working together also gave her an idea of who would make leaders, and who would not; who could work together and who couldn't. This was as important in civilians as it was in troops. After all, when she took her troops off to fight, the others would be left to hold down the fort should it prove to be necessary.

It was midsummer and hotter than blue blazes. If it were possible, tempers were hotter still. The troops were tired of training. They thought they were ready to fight.

RJ looked down on the streets below. It would be dark soon. Already the streets were teeming with the night time crowd. These people were ready to go. They were ready to fight. The problem being that she wasn't.

She looked at Whitey and smiled. He slept soundly, no problems and no worries. He was with her, and that was all he needed to be happy.

She wished it were that easy for her.

RJ walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Whitey stirred and all but uncovered himself, but he didn't wake up. She looked at him and smiled wickedly. He deserved the rest.

She frowned then, and pulled her robe tighter around her although it was far from cold.

Her feelings for Whitey confused her more than anything else. She liked being with him. He made her feel good. She enjoyed making him happy. But in a way she resented his love, because it made her feel obliged to return it. She did love him, but she wasn't sure it was the way he wanted to be loved. She knew he wanted her to tell him she loved him, but for some reason she just couldn't. Like it would hurt her to do it, put her in a position of vulnerability. To love someone was to give them power to control your emotions. To tell them that you loved them put that power into their hands, and she had never been big on giving anyone power over her.

Love caused pain. She tried not to, but as it had so often in the past few weeks, her thoughts turned towards her father. She hadn't felt quite right since she had learned of Stewart's death. David was the only one besides Topaz who even knew, and she had successfully avoided David's attempts to talk to her about it. She didn't want to think about it. She sure didn't want to talk about it, at least not with David, who, of late, couldn't order breakfast without giving a sermonette.

She had told Whitey things she never thought she would tell anyone, and yet she hadn't tried to talk to him about this. There was something about saying it that made it feel so final. It was as illogical as her reasons for not saying 'I love you.'

It was all so stupid. Stewart had been an old man, and he'd led a more than full life. Hell, it had been three years since she'd last seen him, and the way things were going now, she probably wouldn't have been able to see him again anyway.

None of that mattered. It had somehow been comforting just to know that he was around, and now he wasn't. She was never going to see him again, and her only family now consisted of a selfish bitch who wanted her dead and a robot.

Her troops were ready, but she just couldn't work herself into a good killing mood. She couldn't seem to erase from her mind the picture of her father putting a gun in his mouth and blowing the top of his head off. She was reluctant to leave Alsterase. This apartment was the first home she'd had since leaving her father's laboratory, and that hadn't exactly been homey.

If the experiment had gone as planned, she wouldn't have had a childhood or a father. She probably would have grown up and been just like J-6. Having a father had made her different, and now her father was dead.

Stewart hadn't deserved to die like that. He should have died quietly in his bed in his sleep one night. Kirk would pay for his death, but it wouldn't bring her father back.

RJ put a hand to her forehead. Her chest felt tight. Her eyes filled with water until they overflowed and ran down her face. She touched her damp cheeks in disbelief. She was crying! Never before, in all her long years, had this happened. She buried her face in her hands and tried to breathe calmly, to stop this nonsense, but she couldn't.

Her sobs woke Whitey. For a moment he thought he was still asleep, dreaming.

"RJ?" He sat up and put a hand on her shoulder. "My God, RJ, what is it?" To his amazement, he found a sobbing woman in his arms. He held her tightly. He was scared; he couldn't imagine what could make her cry like this. "What's wrong?" he asked again.

"My father's dead!" she choked out. She buried her face in his shoulder and cried even louder.

"Oh, babe, I'm so sorry." He held her tighter and rocked her back and forth. RJ was crying, and not just a little bit, either. He didn't know what to do, what to say to make her stop. He felt his own chest tighten.

"It's my fault," she said in a gasp. "Because I'm a freak!"

"Come on, baby. If you're a freak, whose fault is that?" Whitey said gently.

She lifted her head up off his shoulder and looked at him. He was right of course. She felt a wave of relief begin to wash over her, but her grief and guilt pushed it back.

"It's still my fault." She buried her face in his shoulder again. "He's dead because I had to take on the Reliance." A fresh assault of choking sobs shook her. "He's dead. He's dead, I'm never going to see him again, and it's all my fault."

"It's not your fault. Don't blame yourself." His own voice sounded choked. He held her tightly enough to have broken a normal person's ribs. He had never had any desire to see that RJ had a vulnerable side. He didn't want her to hurt. He didn't want her to cry. She was in pain, and there was nothing he could do but watch. He felt useless. He rested his head on top of hers. "Please don't cry, RJ. Please don't." His own tears started to flow. "I can't stand it if you do."

RJ couldn't stop. She didn't even try. Nothing that had gone before had prepared her for this. She'd seen death and misery, often wading through countless bodies of the dead and dying. But she had never lost anyone she cared about before.

There were things she supposed she should have cried about in the past. It was going to be a long time before she did this again, so she might as well get it all over with at once. She didn't really understand it, but crying like this made her feel better. It felt good to purge herself of her grief and frustration. It felt good to know that Whitey was there. That he cared for her, and that he would not leave her side until she'd made it through this. Slowly, she began to realize that she was not the only one crying. She pulled back and looked at Whitey. He was crying, too.

"Whitey, you didn't even know him. Why are
you
crying?" She dried the tears from her face, then started to dry them carefully from his.

"I don't know. I think because you're crying and you hurt, and I can't fix it." He shrugged.

RJ looked into his eyes. Eyes almost as blue as hers, but devoid of the hardness hers had acquired over the years. He was a good man, a beautiful man, a gentle man who deserved a good and gentle woman. Unfortunately, he loved her.

She kissed him gently on the lips. "You're wonderful." She ran her hand over his stomach. She liked the way he felt, all warm and hairy. She kissed him again. "Make love to me?"

He didn't have to be asked twice.

It was different this time. All the passion was there, all the intensity, but it was more emotional, more intimate. Unbelievably, it was better.

Afterwards, she lay curled up against him, her face lying on his chest. He ran his hand down her back, and watched her body rise and fall with the rhythm of her breathing. "I love you," he whispered. Then wished he hadn't, as the silence roared in his ears.

Then she spoke. "I love you, too." There, she'd said it, and she was glad. She meant it, too. "Very much," she added for good measure.

Whitey looked at her in disbelief. He had waited so long . . . had she really said it? "What did you say?" he asked carefully, almost convinced that he'd imagined the whole thing.

"I said I love you. Here . . ." Suddenly she got up and strode to the window. She threw it open, leaned out and screamed, "I LOVE WHITEY BALDOR!" She leapt back to the bed, and looked at Whitey impishly. "Are you happy now, butthead?"

"Very." He took her into his arms. "I was beginning to think you never would." He leaned against the wall, she moved to lean against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm beginning to think I always have." She settled more comfortably into his arms. "I really don't understand people yet, Whitey. I especially don't understand me." She felt as if she couldn't get close enough to him. He must have felt the same, because he pulled her tightly into his chest. "I wish I could stay right here forever. Right here with you." But she couldn't, and she knew it. He was normal. Sooner or later she would lose him, too. She had only just realized how much he meant to her. She'd wasted all this time with him. Then she smiled. If she had felt this way about him before, she never would have let him make love to her. Things had a way of working out.

The next day RJ started working on a plan of action.

They took the target completely by surprise, and in thirty minutes the more than eighty men who had manned the installation lay dead. The New Alliance had taken very few casualties. Their dead and wounded were carried out in one of three top-of-the-line helicopters they claimed as part of their plunder.