The Frihet Rebellion

Jon sat alone in the rec room, his domed head lowered, hands pressed hard against the sides. He wanted the pounding pain to go away, but he knew it was indicative of his mental turmoil. Until he solved that, the pain would stay.

His problem was his friend, Bryant.

Twice he had followed his instinct and saved Bryant from the President’s men. Twice he had risked a psychological breakdown by acting against the strict guidelines of The Plan. It did not matter that all civilization on Sklale had been wiped out. It did not matter that none of the Planners were alive to see him ignore their instructions. As a Sklale, and as a member of the Sklale Navy, he was honor-bound to follow The Plan to its conclusion.

But he had not been able to stand by and watch his friend die.

He searched his surroundings for some clue, some inspiration for a way to resolve this conflict. But the comfortable seats, the available refreshments, did nothing but remind him of his connection to Earth. It was from there that he had borrowed the ideas for this room of supposed relaxation, and it was to there that he had offered his services, and the services of Spearhead. All as instructed by The Plan.

There was the slight issue of the soldiers and sailors killed in the escape from Earth, and he did regret their deaths. But it was something he was confident could be smoothed over, once he had ingratiated himself with President Deaton.

His head continued to pound.

Being the only living Sklale in the galaxy did not relieve him of his honor-bound duty to follow The Plan. There was no escape clause. He had no real choice.

He knew, with reluctance, what he had to do.

Bryant stepped aside to allow the small maintenance robot through into the control room. It was standard procedure aboard Spearhead for the robots to take over once the ship was cruising in clear space. Jon had retired to the rec room almost half-an-hour ago.

Bryant, less calm and less confident than his alien companion, had remained in the control room, watching the screens for pursuit ships that never appeared. Space remained clear on all sides.

“I have flown us off the standard space routes,” Jon had explained before leaving the control room. “We are not going to see anything out here. Not even pirates sail here. There is no point. There are no ships.”

Bryant knew Jon was right, but it didn’t stop him worrying.

At first, after they had broken through the blockade around Earth, there had been calls, demands, from the military leadership of Earth. Once it became obvious these calls were being ignored, President Deaton had attempted to contact them himself. Jon and Bryant had ignored him too. Finally, the calls had stopped as the increasing delay, even with the latest FTL message technology, made meaningful conversation, or threats, impossible.

All had been silent and peaceful for the past three hours, but Bryant was still finding it difficult to relax.

As another robot bumped his legs, forcing him to step over it, he decided it was time to leave the control room.

A short, smooth and silent elevator ride later, he stepped out into the carpeted rec room, furnished with two armchairs, a two-seater couch and two stools standing before a wall-fixed counter. The room had been completely refitted since Spearhead had been on Earth, which explained the peculiarly Earth-like furniture selections. Bryant suspected it was more interesting before the Earth influence.

The walls were adorned with paintings from a variety of time periods and planets. There were old masters from Earth alongside the latest from the colony worlds. Bryant suspected one or two of the strangest paintings, near abstract works of horizon and vivid, boiling sky, came from Jon’s home world, Sklale.

Jon was already sitting in one of the armchairs, looking completely relaxed. Bryant sat in the chair opposite and tried to attain the same level of relaxation, with little success.

“Are you still worried they will find us?” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bryant. “I can’t help it. They’ve come pretty close to killing me a couple of times now. Makes me nervous.”

“They are not going to catch up with us. You know there is nothing in the Earth fleet that can match us for speed.”

“I know, but…”

“But you will still worry because you allow your emotions to overrule your common sense. You are afraid. That is understandable. But you should not let that fear cloud your intelligence.”

“We’re on the run from the most powerful planet in our galaxy.” Said Bryant. “Aren’t you even a little scared?”

Jon shrugged. “Why should I be? I trust Spearhead.”

“I trusted the President, and look where that got me.”

“You trusted a person. I trust technology. People are untrustworthy by nature. It is always a risk.”

“It’s not often you come close to cynical,” said Bryant. “An event worth noting.”

Jon said nothing in reply. He stared towards the ceiling, his eyes unfocused, his thoughts turned inward.

Bryant watched, feeling it would be inappropriate to interrupt his friend’s sudden trance-like state. He had seen this once or twice before with Jon, and he had always presumed it indicated some deep thought process. Now, however, after recent developments, he wondered if it actually indicated some kind of telepathic event.

But there was too much on Bryant’s mind for him to stay silent for long.

“Where should we head now?” he said. “Do we just wander in space doing nothing in particular, or do we throw in our lot with the rebels on Frihet? We certainly won’t be welcome on any of the colony worlds loyal to Earth.”

“Aimlessly wandering will get very boring very quickly,” said Jon, refocusing his eyes on Bryant. “I suggest we head for Frihet.”

“I agree,” said Bryant. “Should we contact them first, so they know what’s going on?”

“Two things,” said Jon, smiling again. “First, while we have been travelling away from the space lanes, news has travelled even faster. People will know that, in the words of the official press release, we have gone rogue.”

Bryant raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was not sure he had ever known news to travel so quickly between worlds before. It would seem Spearhead was a big story.

“And the second thing?” he asked when Jon paused.

“Second, I have already been in touch with Frihet while you were in the control room being paranoid.”

Bryant laughed, the humor tinged with a touch of bitterness.

“So you’d already chosen what we were going to do?”

“It was the logical choice.”

“And what did Frihet have to say?”

“They seemed quite excited by the idea,” said Jon. “I think they are looking forward to our arrival. Although they have the upper hand at the moment, they are expecting Earth to send a much bigger fleet next time. Our presence will make them feel more secure.”

Bryant felt himself almost relaxing. It would seem that, for the moment at least, things were going their way. He had escaped the President’s assassination attempts and left Earth in Spearhead. Now, he and Jon were on their way to Frihet, where they would be welcomed. He was still not sure why the President had ordered him killed, but the man would regret his decision. Bryant was determined about that.

“You must be tired,” said Jon. “Why not get some sleep? You’ve been through a lot.”

“You’re right,” said Bryant, yawning. “I feel exhausted.”

“Relax and close your eyes,” said Jon, softly. “Let yourself drift off.”

Bryant could feel a heavy weariness folding over him, a thick blanket on a winter’s evening: warm and comforting. He was surprised at just how tired he suddenly felt. And then he grew suspicious.

“Are you doing something to me?” he said, his words slurring, his eyelids too heavy to keep open.

“Just sleep,” said Jon, and his voice seemed to echo from a long way off.

In the moments before Bryant completely lost consciousness, he heard Jon at the communicator. He wondered who his friend would be calling. Then the blackness closed in.