Fic: Rainbow’s Freedom (Justice Arc) (45/61)
Title: Rainbow’s Freedom (Justice Arc) (45/61)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: (this chapter): Aaron Melkin, James Regan, Clark/Bruce, Two Unnamed Slaves
Series Notes: In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices the ancient institution of slavery. Clark begins training under the Bat and secrets are uncovered as the Abolitionist Movement makes rapid progress with old and new methods. Can Freedom outrace rumors of War as the Galactic Empire rushes headlong to a new future?
The entire series can be found here.
Genres: AU, Drama, Slavefic
Rating: (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Briarwood is not an easy place to work, but it has its benefits.
Date Of Completion (First Draft): August 22, 2011
Date Of Posting: November 25, 2012
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1310
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: The magnificent story cover is by the wonderfully-talented ctbn60. Thanks so much, luv! :)
"We run the Underground Railroad on a need-to-know basis. The less we all know about each other, the better."
James Wayne
1859 C.E.
XLV
SPARKLING STREAM
Aaron waxed the limousine with gusto. One of the things he liked about this job was the opportunity to handle the cars. They were beautiful machines that he loved to take care of and drive.
This was one of the few things he liked about this job, because Briarwood was a place of suspicion and mistrust, fear and agony. While the slaves had the most to fear, the freemen felt that they had to watch their step, too.
Aaron knew that he always had the sensation of being watched, which was borne out when he had noticed the cameras in the trees surrounding the garage. The stableboy, Punch, had pointed them out around the stables.
He knew that there were hidden microphones around, too, to record their conversations. At least offenses deemed as cause for firing meant you only got fired, not whipped or otherwise disciplined like a slave’s punishment.
Still, the atmosphere was creepy. He knew what went on in the mansion’s dungeon and had seen the notorious torture tape. Shuddering, he waxed a little harder.
The clip-clop of horses’ hooves sounded up the path from the stables. Aaron smiled.
Right on time.
He looked up as Regan appeared on his horse, Wildfire, a black stallion worthy of the name. He held the reins of Strawberry, a roan who was Aaron’s favorite. Aaron tossed the cloth onto the hood of the car and mounted Strawberry. The two of them led their horses down the bridal path, heading into the trees.
Regan’s green eyes scanned the trees, Aaron doing the same. Finally the groom spoke.
“When’s our next package due to be sent?”
“Today.”
The redhead shivered. “Those hooded guys give me the creeps.”
Aaron smirked. “Pretty cool, though, not to mention smart. If we get caught, we can’t tell their identities.”
“But they know ours.”
“Somehow I doubt that these guys are going to get caught.” Aaron patted Strawberry’s mane.
Regan snorted. He clucked to Wildfire and their pace increased.
Aaron still could not quite believe that the gnarly groom was in cahoots with him to free slaves, or at least send them on their way on the Underground Railroad. Regan slapped Punch around and treated the other slaves the same way, but it was an extremely good cover. When Regan had first approached him about the Railroad, Aaron had been shocked. He had been suspicious at first but gradually had learned that Regan was on the level.
The Caldwell slaves certainly needed the help. They lived in a never-ending nightmare, the constant stress killing a few before Edmund and his viperous brood did.
It was why he stayed. If he could aid even a few of the poor wretches, he would consider himself worthy of humanity.
Regan’s red hair glinted in the dappled sunlight peeking through the trees. He was an expert horseman, of course, which befit a groom, and not all of his prickly personality was an act.
Aaron studied the trees. Even out here there could be cameras, though it was unlikely. Still, they had to be cautious.
And if you learn anything working for the Caldwells, it’s to be cautious.
They rode in silence for awhile, only the sounds of birds singing and squirrels chittering surrounding them. Occasionally one of the horses would snort and huff, but riding with Regan usually meant a quiet journey, which suited Aaron just fine. He had a lot to think about this morning.
He had spoken to fellow chauffeur Brendan Murphy many times, and he wondered what it would be like to work in a relaxed environment, where slaves were treated with dignity and not like subjects to be tortured at the Master’s whim.
He had been thinking of finding a new job, one with a heckuva lot less stress, but he knew that he was doing important work here. He could find a good job, because the Caldwells always gave good references, otherwise no one would ever work for them. It was why they paid better than most people who wanted a chauffeur. Servants talked, and the only way the Caldwells could get freemen to work for them was to pay a little more.
As they rode up a slight incline, Aaron had thought of the question as to why they needed freemen at all. Slaves could do the job, though custom dictated a freeman behind the wheel.
Still, the pattern was clear here: positions of authority had to be filled by freemen. Garon, the butler, and June Haverstock, the head housekeeper, were freeman, and so were he and Regan. Groundskeeper Paxmore was free, but that was it, excluding Security, who were all freemen.
Was it time to move on? Even though he was helping slaves escape, they had to be extremely cautious. It would look far too suspicious to have a stream of Caldwell slaves disappear, so they helped other slaves, too, but not as many as they could if the cameras were not everywhere.
He was just uncertain. How could he really make a difference with helping only a few slaves every six months or so from this house of horrors?
But you’re helping the other slaves, too. So if you can save even one soul, it’ll be worth it.
Satisfied, Aaron decided to stay for now.
As he became aware of his surroundings again, he realized that Regan had led them to a sparkling stream. A few yards away, a small waterfall cascaded down a cliff, splashing into a clear pool.
Aaron smiled. This was his favorite place on the estate, matched only by the garage and its collection of magnificent cars.
Regan dismounted, tying Wildfire’s reins to a tree. Aaron did the same with Strawberry's reins. Both horses had plenty of slack to roam around and graze. Regan took sandwiches and beer out of his saddlebags and they sat on flat rocks by the stream, eating in companionable silence.
Regan was broad-shouldered, his face lightly-freckled, red hair glinting in the sun. A man of few words, the head groom had not been easy to approach when Aaron had first started working at Briarwood. He ran the Caldwell stables with an iron fist, as Punch could attest, but aside from the occasional slap and verbal abuse, Aaron had quickly realized that was as far as Regan went, and that just for show. Unless someone else was around, he didn’t hit Punch at all.
Aaron wondered if he could keep up such a pretense. He thought of Brendan, and how the chauffeur was always talking about working with Bruce Wayne’s Squire, and how a real friendship had developed. Did Regan allow himself to form anything positive with Punch?
“You know, you think too much.”
Startled, Aaron looked at his companion. He took a swig of beer. “Really?”
“Really.”
Aaron grinned. “You’re probably right.”
Regan snorted. He finished his beer and watched a silvery fish glide under the dappled water. He resolutely ignored the two black-cloaked figures flitting through the trees and the sound of footsteps behind him and Aaron. Two frightened slaves emerged from the trees and headed toward the cloaked figures, who ushered them deeper into the forest.
Aaron made sure not to look, either, keeping his eyes on the surrounding woods. If a camera did show up they were all in trouble, but these two slaves from the Moresby estate had followed their directions well. The presence of the two picnickers alerted the slaves to the rendezvous point and they were gone, vanished along with their mysterious colleagues.
“Tomorrow we should bring fishing poles,” Regan said.
Aaron nodded. “Yeah.”
They finished lunch in companionable silence, then picked up any trash and headed back to the garage and stables.
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