The Frihet Rebellion

Once Ameridian was home-side of the wormhole, Captain Sumner felt able to wind down his tension a little. He could not relax completely until he was actually home, but there remained no immediate threats to the ship, and that gave cause for some relief.

They had made it! If not for Spearhead it might have been a different ending, but that strange alien ship had come to their rescue. It was not the first time ships of the Earth navy had been saved by its intervention, which made the rumors he had heard around the officer’s club, about President Deaton’s dislike of the ship, and in particular its crew, all the harder to understand.

But then Deaton’s not exactly stable, he thought, traitorously, glad that no one could read his mind.I’m not the only one to think he’s paranoid and delusional. Probably some kind of psychopath as well, although I’m not exactly an expert.

Sumner was loyal to Earth. He did not, for one second, doubt his allegiance to his home planet. But that did not necessarily mean complete loyalty to whoever might be in charge at any given moment. Presidents came and went, often for sudden and violent reasons, but Earth remained constant.

He was deep in thought as he reached his cabin, and did not hear the footsteps until they were almost upon him. He turned quickly, arms half-raised in defense.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Captain,” said Sarah Davison, stopping just inches from Sumner’s taut body.

Sumner punched the door release of his cabin and backed inside.

“Dammit, Sarah,” he whispered hoarsely. “You scared the shit out of me there.”

“I need to talk to you, urgently, Captain.”

Sumner stood aside and waved Davison in. As the door slid closed behind her, he slowed his breathing and tried to calm the turmoil in his head. The sudden shock, the closeness of her, the fact that they were alone in his cabin, all conspired to confuse and distract him. He was not helped by her subtle but clear shift from the body language of the professional to the personal.

“Crawford,” she said, making and holding eye contact. “We need to do something about Kramer and the Princess.”

Sumner felt an almost forgotten excitement at her use of his first name, and at looking into her worried but beautiful eyes. He could almost believe there might be a chance for them again, in the future. But for now he needed to try and concentrate on what she was saying, beyond his name. He was not so love-struck that he couldn’t function as both Captain and, he hoped, friend.

“In what way?” He sounded a little hoarse, and coughed to clear his throat.

“Kramer has been spending more and more time in the Princess’s cabin since we escaped from Frihet,” said Davison. “It’s not hard to imagine what he’s up to in there.”

Sumner saw the glinting reflection of his cabin’s overhead light in the tears that welled in her eyes. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, but he didn’t dare. And she was right about Kramer. He knew it, had thought it himself. But it had sickened and disgusted him so much that he had thrust the thought from his mind. He hadn’t felt there was anything he could do about it, so he had chosen to ignore it instead. Now, he was being forced to confront it once again, and again it sickened and disgusted him.

“He’s a perfect example of what Deaton is turning us all into,” continued Davison. “Brutal animals, with no consideration for anyone but ourselves, and an overbearing superiority over all who weren’t born within the Solar System.”

The words were familiar to Sumner, seen and heard at anti-Deaton rallies across Earth, before the gatherings were violently dispersed by the police, the speakers arrested. But he was surprised to hear them from Sarah. She had never expressed such traitorous views before, even when they were together. He had no idea she sided with the anti-Deaton groups. He wasn’t sure how to process that information, choosing, for the moment at least, to concentrate on the immediate situation aboard the ship.

“There’s nothing I can do,” he said, his voice sounding weak and pitiful in his own head.

“Standing by, doing nothing, while that poor woman is beaten and raped, is almost as bad as doing the act itself,” said Davison, not raising her voice, but almost spitting the words in her anger. “I’m sorry if I speak out of turn, Captain, but this is your ship and, regardless of whether his rank is higher on paper or not, while on your ship, Admiral Kramer has to obey your rules.”

She was right, of course. But he still hesitated at getting involved between Kramer and Princess Thalor. He had his career to think of. Up to now, that had always come first.

Davison’s voice softened, and tears began to roll down her cheeks as she whispered, “If that was me in there with Kramer, instead of a Frihetian, would you still stand by and do nothing?”

Sumner knew the answer to that, and was surprised to feel hurt at the suggestion he would not act. But that very hurt forced him to re-evaluate his current action, or inaction. Was it driven by racism, buried so deep in his Earth-based upbringing that he was not even aware of it? He had been outspoken, in the past, against racially motivated groups within the military, but now he had to consider whether he was guilty of the same prejudice. Did the girl being Frihetian really make a difference? Or was it simply that he didn’t personally know Princess Thalor, and therefore thought her less worthy of his protection?

Does that really matter? Is a person any less of a person because I don’t know them?

“I... I don’t know, Sarah,” he said, almost stuttering in his confusion. “I need time to think.”

“Okay. But just remember, while you’re thinking, that girl is suffering as no woman... no person... should have to suffer.”

Davison opened the cabin door, pausing before she exited.

“Maybe even consider the wider picture as well,” she said. “What Kramer is doing to that girl, Deaton is doing, metaphorically, to our homeworld.”

Sumner glanced quickly, frightened, into the outside corridor. It was empty.

“Be quiet, Sarah,” he whispered. “If you’re reported for speaking like that it means...”

“The death penalty, I know.” Her mouth twisted into a sneer, almost a grim smile. “But doesn’t that say it all? If I have the nerve to state an opinion in any way critical of our President, I will be sentenced to death. What kind of way is that to live a life?”

She left, punching the door closed behind her.

Sumner stood for a moment, dazed, unsure what to think. When he finally lay down on his bunk, he could not sleep. Too many thoughts were darting back and forth in his brain, twisting, merging, breaking apart in his total confusion. He did not know what to do. Never before, in his career, had he been this indecisive. But he was not sure he had ever faced a problem with such possibly wide-ranging implications.

If anyone but Sarah had said such things...

But it was Sarah who had spoken, had asked him to step up and make a decision.

The flashing of the communicator on his bedside table interrupted his thoughts. An urgent call from the bridge. He was a little surprised when Sarah’s face swim into focus. She could barely have retaken her seat before calling.

“Yes?”

“You’re needed on the bridge, Captain,” she said. “We are about to enter Solar System space.”

“Be right there,” he said, switching the communicator off. He knew he was not needed for the routine of entering the Solar System, therefore Sarah needed him for something else. Curiosity, if nothing else, drove him up off the bed and out of his cabin.

“This is Neptune Three. Please keep to the regular flight paths and disengage main drive. Secondary engines only in the Solar System.”

“Understood, Neptune Three. Thank you.” Davison switched off her communication and turned as Sumner entered the bridge.

Sumner quickly scanned the crew and consoles around him. Everything seemed in place and working. There was only one anachronism on the bridge, and that was Admiral Kramer standing near the entrance with his prisoner, Princess Thalor.

The underlying hum of the engines changed to a slower pulse.

“Secondary engines have been engaged, Captain,” said Davison. “Navigation report, two hours to spaceyard.”

Sumner nodded in response, still unsure why he was there, but beginning to suspect. He took his command seat, feeling immediately in control. Once they reached the spaceyard orbiting Earth, he considered he was truly home. A quick hop down to the surface, or a short shuttle trip to his vacation home on Mars, and the relaxation could begin. But until then he was Captain Sumner of Ameridian. The confusion in his head began to, slowly, straighten out.

“Almost there, Princess,” said Kramer, interrupting Sumner’s thoughts and bringing him back to one of the more unsavory aspects of this particular mission.

Princess Thalor, her wrists wrapped in heavy manacles, was still dressed in the overalls first given to her, although they now looked stained and torn in places. Her hair was knotted and her face swollen with bruises and cuts.

Sumner looked away, sickened by the brutality, and caught the pleading eye of Davison. Her reason for calling him to the bridge was now clear.

Kramer’s gruff voice, dripping with malice and lust, once again interrupted his thoughts.

“Come on, Princess,” he said, grabbing the girl’s thin arm in his thick fist. “Two hours is plenty of time for a last bit of fun.”

Sumner looked again towards Davison, saw the flash of anger in her eyes directed at Kramer. Something finally snapped inside Sumner’s head. A line had been crossed, a barrier broken. He had had enough!

“Leave her alone, Admiral,” he said, his voice sharp, commanding.

The background level of noise on the bridge lessened as people turned to watch. There was little love for Admiral Kramer on the ship, even less for the treatment of his captive.

Kramer stopped and turned, his eyes blazing.

“What? Do you think you can tell me what I can or can’t do?”

“On my ship, yes,” said Sumner.

Kramer pulled the Princess close to him, grabbing at her breast through her overall top, squeezing until she whimpered in pain.

“This is mine,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “I can do what I want with it.”

“You’ve overstepped the mark, both legally and morally, Admiral. Now, let her go.”

“My property,” snarled Kramer.

“She was your captive, not your property,” said Sumner, standing, facing the Admiral and a confused looking Princess. “And as of now, she is my captive.”

“You can’t do that,” said Kramer, but there was doubt behind his eyes.

“As captain of this ship, I have that right,” said Sumner. “Davison, call Security please.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Davison, immediately turning to her communications console.

“I won’t let you take her,” said Kramer, frustration turning to rage inside his head. He would not let them take his prize away, his chance of being the hero of this mission.

“Hand her over, Admiral, before Security gets here and makes you.”

Sumner saw the blade flash in Kramer’s hand a moment before the enraged man lunged at him.

He stepped back and managed to parry, the blade scratching his hand. He grappled with Kramer, trying to get him to the floor and disarm him, vaguely aware of the rising noise of voices in the background, confused, scared, even excited. But Kramer was strong with his madness. He wriggled free and swung a punch, hitting Sumner on the shoulder. Kicking out, his boot caught Sumner’s thigh.

Sumner’s leg gave way and he fell.

Kramer leapt onto him, landing his knee in Sumner’s stomach. He arced the knife towards the gasping man’s face, but Sumner caught the wrist, more by luck than design, and held the blade inches away from his eyes.

Crew members were slowly beginning to move, uncertainly, towards the struggle. No one was quite sure how to intervene.

Davison looked desperately towards the bridge door, willing Security to arrive.

Kramer and Sumner continued to struggle.

Princess Thalor, who had kept her eyes downcast the whole time she had been on the bridge, suddenly looked up. She glared at Kramer, saw him trying to kill the other man, the man who had tried to stop Kramer taking her back to her prison and abusing her once more.

Using the heavy manacles on her wrists, she struck a savage blow to the side of Kramer’s face. The metal ripped a gash in his cheek and he began to fall. She struck again, across the top of his head. Blood sprayed from the deep wound opened in his scalp. He tumbled to the floor, dazed.

Sumner quickly scrambled to his feet, and placed a heavy boot on Kramer’s outstretched wrist, forcing him to release the knife.

Princess Thalor saw her opportunity.

Swooping in low, she grabbed the knife and landed astride the prone Kramer. Before anyone could stop her, she plunged the blade again and again into Kramer’s chest, face, arms. Where did not matter. She kept stabbing and stabbing until the Admiral no longer moved, and her manacled hands were slick with his blood. The knife slipped and clattered onto the bridge floor.

In stunned silence, Sumner gently helped the Princess to her feet.

She sobbed quietly, looking at the bloodied body of Kramer, not with horror or shock, but with satisfaction and relief. She was free of his abuse, of his power. She had killed the bastard, and she cried with release and delayed trauma.

Sumner helped the Princess over to Davison, who sat her down and tried to calm her.

Security had finally arrived. Sumner took them to one side and explained what he wanted done.

Less than twenty minutes later, Admiral Kramer’s body was fed to the waste disposal machine and, ground to minute particles, spat into space.