The Frihet Rebellion

“The success of the revolt on Frihet is creating disturbances on the other planets in the Raga System, Mr. President,” said General Kyger, Senior Military Advisor.

He stood, uniform pressed to perfection, before the Earth President’s wide desk, a panoramic window displaying the rooftops of New Washington from this, the highest office in the highest building in the planet-wide metropolis. Off to one side sat a young woman he recognized as Jennifer Sax, Senior Personal Assistant to the President. She held a tablet before her, babysitting the automatic minute taker. Kyger thought her much too young to have been elevated to such a high position, and her presence in so many important meetings was unnecessary. The previous president had been happy to rely on the automated systems. He did not see why President Deaton felt it necessary to have another person privy to the innermost workings of the Earth government, although he suspected her youth and undoubted beauty were significant factors. Deaton was a lech!

To the other side of the desk stood Anderson Bentley, Chief Presidential Advisor, long-serving, old and a reservoir of much knowledge. Also an enemy of the military machine. Kyger held no love for the man and found him arrogant, manipulative and acerbic. Surely he must surrender to old age soon and retire, or drop dead in service? Either would suit Kyger.

He waited for President Deaton’s response, unable to read the immovable, drawn features of the man sitting in the chair behind the desk. Deaton was tall, but not exceptionally so. His frame was slight, wiry, but he was not thin to the point of emaciation. He was, in most ways, totally unremarkable. Yet he had grasped the presidential role with strength and power. It would be foolish to underestimate him.

“I am aware of the problems this rebellion is causing, Kyger,” said the President, finally. “I am also aware that, should all twelve of the Raga planets fall, they would be in a stronger position than we ourselves were two hundred years ago. And our little Solar System went on to conquer the whole of the known Milky Way galaxy!”

“I don’t think…”

“But I do, Kyger, I do,” said the President, interrupting the General, who spluttered to a stop. “That’s the problem. I think too much. You remember, I trust, that the daughter of the deposed King Thalor of Frihet, now sadly deceased of course, lived under protective custody on the planet? The rebels will free her and the so-called Princess of Frihet will become a rallying cry for those supporting the old regime. You might think that we can deal with this Frihet out in the distant Raga System at any time. But I want to deal with it now. Stamp it out before it gets any further.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” said Kyger, maintaining his stiff, upright pose despite being momentarily flustered by the President’s interruption.

“I want our strongest fleet, our strongest ships, sailing for the Raga System immediately,” said the President, turning his chair to look out over the vista from his window, his back to Kyger. “I want Spearhead leading it.”

Kyger remained outwardly still, but inside he faltered and felt the tremble of nerves in his stomach. This was one subject he had hoped to avoid.

He noted a small head movement from Jennifer Sax, a slight raising of her eyes from the auto minute taker. For a moment he wondered about that. He had heard rumors but, up to now, had ignored them.

He looked across to Bentley, the Chief Presidential Advisor, and saw a slight smile on the old man’s face. That smile told him he was in trouble.

“I believe,” said Bentley, his smooth, controlled voice never rising far above a whisper, “that Spearhead is not currently combat ready, Mr. President.”

The President looked at Bentley, and then turned back to General Kyger.

“Is this true, Kyger?”

Kyger cleared his throat, inwardly cursing Bentley, a man more twisted and corrupt than even the President.

“Unfortunately, it’s still being repaired,” he said. “You may remember the report about the expedition to Shadark two months ago?”

The President waved a hand in the air. “Remind me.”

I doubt he even reads the reports, thought Kyger. Just relies on Bentley to feed him the relevant data.

“Viruses released by the enemy infiltrated its systems and, unfortunately, destroyed much of its navigation and armament,” he said.

There was a tense moment of silence before the President pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and shook his head. A look passed between him and Bentley that Kyger could read easily. It questioned why the military were, in their opinion, so inefficient.

“Why is it taking so long?” the President said with a sigh. “Surely our military shipyards should be quicker than this?”

“As you know, Mr. President,” said Kyger, the cool speckling of sweat on his forehead the only sign of his inner nervousness. ”Spearhead is a freelancer, a mercenary if you like. While its loyalty certainly lies with Earth, it is independent of our control and its crew insist on undertaking all repairs themselves.”

“Its crew,” said the President, the disdain in his voice twisting his mouth downward.

“A failed military cadet and an alien from a world that no longer exists,” said Bentley, the smile that Kyger hated so much never leaving his lips.

“Two people dictating to the Earth military,” said the President, his voice rising. “To me, the President. Is that really the situation, Kyger?”

“We have no choice, Mr. President,” said Kyger, beads of sweat now trickling down his cheek. “If we want Spearhead’s help we need to respect their independence.”

“Respect!” The President closed his eyes, as though calming a rising anger. “And the reason we don’t just take over the ship by force and make it our own?”

“They are the only two who understand the technology, Mr. President,” said Kyger quickly. “And, if you remember, your predecessor did attempt just what you’re suggesting. The result was a disaster. We lost a lot of good men that day, and your predecessor’s approval ratings dropped dramatically. He… left office soon after.”

Because you killed him and took over, thought Kyger, not daring to speak the truth out loud.

“I take your point, Kyger,” said the President, regaining his calm in so speedily a manner as to make Kyger suspect the show of anger had been staged. Bentley had probably advised the President of all the salient details before the meeting. They simply enjoyed putting him under pressure.

“Send the fleet without Spearhead,” continued the President. “But I want that ship out there at Raga as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“You are dismissed.”

Kyger turned swiftly on his heel and marched from the Presidential office with some relief. He had sworn complete obedience to the Office of president, whatever his feeling for the man who occupied it at any time, but the old man Bentley was another matter. That ogre had survived three presidents so far. He would probably die at his desk. Kyger wondered idly how easy it would be to arrange that sooner rather than later.

“You may go too, Jenny,” said the President, his voice much softer than when dismissing Kyger. “Thank you, as always, for your time.”

“No problem, Mr. President,” said Jenny Sax, smiling. “Always a pleasure.”

She rose from her seat and, holding the auto minute taker tablet close to her chest, followed Kyger from the room.

The President watched the door to his office close and then turned to Bentley.

“Remind me again of these two running Spearhead.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” said Bentley. He did not need to access his Tech-augmented additional memory banks for the details. He knew them well. “Bryant Johnson, the Earthman, resigned from the military officers’ academy three months before graduation. My sources tell me that he was about to be expelled anyway. The resignation meant he avoided the stigma associated with an expulsion.”

“Was he not a good cadet?”

“On the contrary, Mr. President. His ability was never in question. In Tech he consistently placed top of the class, and in Combat Skills was always in the top five. He did well in Navigation, Tactics, Piloting… in fact, he was considered one of the most talented cadets in his year.”

“So why the threat of expulsion?”

“Insubordination,” said Bentley, his voice hissing the word as though it was the worst sin imaginable. “By his final year he was refusing to take orders from anyone but his Sergeant Major and the Academy’s Commanding Officer.”

“Did he say why?”

“Apparently they were the only two among the Officers and Trainers that he considered worthy of respect, Mr. President. In more recent times, he has become something of a vocal critic of your policies. I believe he can be quite loud about it, especially after an amount of alcohol.”

“Indeed. He sounds troublesome.” The President was thoughtful for a moment. “Do we think he has any connection with the HLA?”

“There is no evidence that he is involved with the Humanity Liberation Army, Mr. President,” said Bentley, unable to suppress a small sigh. “I fear you worry too much about this small group of troublemakers. They really aren’t a threat.”

“Maybe not to you, but they came into existence after I became President, with the sole intent to get rid of me," said President Deaton, angrily. “Pardon me if I take it personally.”

“I understand, Mr. President,” said Bentley, bowing slightly. “I apologies if I seemed to take their obvious threat in any way frivolously. I do, of course, take them very seriously indeed.”

“I should hope so,” said Deaton, calming himself. “Tell me about the alien who runs Spearhead.”

“Full name Joniskyredread, as far as we can translate the sounds of his own language. In our own tongue he has taken the shortened name of Jon for convenience. Spearhead is his ship.”

Bentley paused, quickly checking his Tech-augmented memory. He wanted to be certain he got the details right.

“He arrived in our Solar System just over five years ago, requesting a place to land and repair his ship. It had been damaged, according to him, in a distant war that had destroyed his home world, Sklale.”

“Do we know anything of Sklale? Or of this war?”

“Sklale was on our galactic maps, out towards the edge, and we had some brief contact with them almost a century ago, according to records. We were not aware of any war, but a scouting mission we sent to confirm the alien’s story did find the ruins of a civilization on a planet very obviously blasted by powerful weapons. It seemed to fit what he said, and he would not elaborate further.”

President Deaton rose from his chair and stepped closer to the panoramic window. He watched the ground-cars on the intertwining freeways, and the sky-cars on the equally intertwined, but invisible to the naked eye, skyways. The planet-wide city buzzed with life and energy and power. And it was his to control, to lead. The true power of the city lay with him. Surely he could not be blamed if the minutiae sometimes passed him by?

“How did this Johnson end up with the alien?” he said without turning from the mesmerizing view.

“Originally it seemed the alien was looking to select a co-pilot from the Academy,” said Bentley. “We believed he had narrowed it down to a choice between two. Johnson, and another cadet called Crawford Sumner. Sumner had proved reliable, loyal and obedient during his years at the Academy, and was Johnson’s equal in most, if not quite all, subjects. Needless to say, Sumner was our preferred candidate. It came as a surprise, therefore, that when Johnson resigned from the Academy, the alien immediately offered him the co-pilot job.”

The President turned to look at Bentley.

“A surprising choice indeed,” he said. “Interesting.”

“By this time Spearhead had been on Earth for almost a year,” said Bentley. “As soon as Johnson was on board, the alien offered the services of his ship to the then President, on a purely freelance basis, as you have heard. They’ve been an effective weapon for us since then.”

“I know about their effectiveness,” said the President. “The most powerful ship we have access to.”

Once, back when I was a junior officer, I saw them ram straight through three enemy ships, thought the President.But I’m not about to remind Bentley of my lowly background.

“Indeed, Mr. President,” said Bentley. “It’s unfortunate they are not completely under our control, or that we don’t have a truly loyal man on board. But you have already discussed that point with the General.”

“Things can change, Bentley,” said the President quietly, deep in thought. “Things can change.”