The Frihet Rebellion

Bryant Johnson stifled a scream as he rested his bruised and bleeding buttocks against the cold stone wall behind him. His wrists were scraped raw by the manacles chaining him to the wall. His shoulders ached from hanging for so long. Cuts and wheals scarred his body. The President’s apes knew how to handle hot, thin metal rods. Before long, his chances of ever fathering children would be slight. Already, the mere thought of sex made him groan with pain.

If they would ask me some questions, I’d be glad to answer them, he thought bitterly.

But he knew Deaton wasn’t interested in information. Only in making him suffer for whatever imagined wrongs he had done the President.

I knew Spearheadwas resented because of its power and its independence, and I guess I was resented for being part of the two-man crew. But to this degree?

He tried to push himself up the wall, just enough to ease the strain on his scraped and bleeding wrists, but the pain from the wounds down his back was too much and he gave up.

He feared his shoulders would dislocate before long.

Would they kill him? At the moment he would welcome it.

Overshadowing all of his physical pain, however, was the anguish he felt when he thought of Jon. Of betrayal. Of friendship turned to… what? Hate? He didn’t hate Jon, despite what had happened. He was confused, certainly, but he could not rid his mind of the thought that Jon must have good reason to act as he did.

Am I just being stupid? How can I not despise a friend who betrayed me?

Even though Jon was alien, Bryant knew that he understood, and felt, friendship. The conviction that he would not betray a friend without the best of reasons, remained.

After all this, I trust Jon to be doing the right thing.

He moaned loudly as another wave of pain and aching swept over his body.

Maybe I’m just an optimistic idiot.

The sudden drawing of the bolts on the cell door made him flinch in anticipation. Were his torturers coming back so soon? He usually had a little more time to recover between sessions.

There’s nothing I can do. Maybe this time I’ll be lucky and they’ll kill me.

The door was pulled open, but it was not the unspeaking, heavy-set jailers who entered. President Deaton, followed by his near constant shadows, Bentley and General Kyger, walked into the cell.

“You’re looking well, Johnson,” said the President, smiling. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay?”

For a moment Bryant considered answering truthfully, but he felt that would hand too much power to Deaton. It would reveal his vulnerability, and he was too stubborn to do that just yet.

“The accommodation is a bit sparse,” he said, his dry mouth and lips causing his voice to crack slightly. “And the view is limited. But the staff are conscientious and professional, if not always pleasant.”

The President laughed.

“Ah, the true hero. Joking in the face of certain death.” He looked back towards the still open cell door and nodded. “Maybe you can use that sense of humor to entertain your new cellmate.”

Two jailers marched into the cell, dragging between them a small, slim girl dressed in a ship’s overall. Her hair was tangled, unkempt, and what he could see of her face was smeared with tears and bruised by beatings.

“You can keep each other company until such time as I decide to parade her before the galaxy’s press, or until you die. Whichever comes first,” said the President, still smiling.

The galaxy’s press, thought Bryant. Someone important?

At another nod from the President, the two jailers stripped the overall off the girl, despite some token resistance. She stood as naked as Bryant between the two leering men. They quickly dragged her to the wall and chained her wrists high over her head. She was stretched, her toes just touching the floor.

Bryant empathized with the pain she would soon feel in her shoulders, her wrists. He noted, with some anger, the way the jailers’ hands wandered down and across her body before they stood back.

“Well,” said Deaton. “Johnson, meet Thalor. Princess Thalor of Frihet. It’s so nice to have the two of you as my special guests. I do hope you get along with each other.”

With a light chuckle at his own humor, the President turned and left the cell, trailed by Bentley and Kyger. The two jailers followed, locking and bolting the door behind them.

In the gloom, Bryant looked over at the Princess. Her body was bruised, almost, but not quite, as badly as her face. It was obvious she had suffered several beatings, but he feared worse was to come for her as a guest of President Deaton. It was also obvious that, beneath those bruises, she was very pretty, perhaps even beautiful. It was hard to tell. For one moment his eyes lingered on her nakedness, but then he turned away, embarrassed and a little disgusted with himself.

“You needn’t worry,” she said, her voice soft and more than a little tired. “I’m used to men looking at me.”

“Hardly the same,” said Bryant, ashamed that she had noticed his brief appraisal. “I apologies for my rudeness.”

“You’re a man,” she said. “I expect it. Nevertheless, thank you for the apology.”

She turned her head and looked his way.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’ve been naked before. Don’t worry about it.”

A slight laugh escaped her lips, although she winced at the small involuntary movement of her body that accompanied it.

“That bastard called you Johnson?”

“Bryant. And you’re a real life Princess?”

“Born and bred,” she said. “Although, just at the moment, it doesn’t seem particularly relevant.”

“It’s nice to meet you Princess, despite the circumstances,” said Bryant. “I’ve not met royalty before.”

“Sad thing is, after my people released me from house arrest and put me on my father’s throne, I would have ignored someone like you. A commoner. Had you spoken to me as we have done here, I would have had you thrown in prison for the presumption.”

"Now you sound like a Princess.”

“Strange how your perspective on things can change,” she said, her voice getting quieter as tiredness took hold. “It really is nice to meet you Bryant Johnson, despite, as you say, the circumstances.”

Her head dropped, and a light snoring made Bryant smile, even though it stretched scar tissue on his face and hurt. Exhaustion had finally claimed her. He hoped their jailers gave her enough time for some real sleep before they began their work on her. That thought sickened him even more than the thought of his own future torture.

For the first time in days, he wished there was a way to escape. Someone outside to rescue them. He did not want to watch the jailers torture the young Princess. But the wishing brought frustration with it, because he knew the reality. Neither escape nor rescue was going to happen. There was nothing he could do. He was powerless. Helpless.

Tears ran over his cheeks and dripped onto his chest, leaving a winding trail through the dried blood and grime.

Davison found him in a dark, shadow-filled recess at the back of the bar. He hadn’t been difficult to trace, once she knew he had grabbed the shuttle from the spaceyard down to Earth. Dunes had always been his favorite bar, even back to when they were a couple, and she had a feeling he would be nostalgic, and depressed.

The place was busy but not crowded, and the path to his table was clear. The deepthud thud thud of the music reverberated in her stomach as she crossed towards him. She told herself that was all it was, but the strange, unsettled feeling hinted at more upset than the booming base of the jukebox.

She had not quite reached his table when Captain Sumner looked up from his drink and saw her. His expression was one of surprise, pleasure and puzzlement. It twisted his features in a way that almost made Davison laugh. She thought it best not to.

“Sarah?” He stood, almost knocking over his drink. “But what...?”

“Hello, Crawford. Do you mind if I join you?”

“No,” spluttered Sumner. “Of course not.”

Davison took the seat opposite as Sumner reseated himself.

“I seem to have taken you by surprise,” said Davison, smiling.

Sumner, recovering from his initial reaction, gathered himself enough to return the smile.

“I just wasn’t expecting to see you here. Are you meeting someone?”

“I was looking for you,” said Davison. “You shouldn’t really be so surprised. You did the right thing, back there on the ship, and I’m proud of you. I know it took a lot to break the rules and risk your own career to save Princess Thalor from that animal.”

“He had it coming,” said Sumner, his cheeks reddening slightly at the knowledge that Sarah was proud of him. “No human should behave that way.”

“I agree, totally.”

Is now the time to come clean? To tell him everything?

“Listen,” she said. “Those things I said about Deaton by your cabin...”

“Don’t worry,” said Sumner, interrupting. “I’m not going to tell anyone. And there’s no recording of the conversation, not on the normal ship cameras or the covert security ones. I checked.”

“You checked?” Sarah reached across the table and placed her hand over his. “Thank you, Crawford. That was sweet and thoughtful.”

Sumner nervously withdrew his hand. “No problem. You know I’d do anything to keep you out of trouble.”

“Thing is,” said Davison. “I wasn’t going to apologies for saying them, or ask if you were going to tell anyone. I was going to say that I not only stand by what I said, but I intend to do something about it.”

“Do something?” Sumner quickly glanced about the bar, but saw no one other than recognizable regulars. His voice dropped to a whisper. “What do you mean?”

“How did you feel when you handed over the Princess to Deaton’s jailers?”

“How did I feel?” Sumner hesitated, bringing back the recent and painful memory. “I felt terrible, as though I was betraying her and cheapening myself in some way. But I had no choice. Getting rid of Kramer was one thing, but refusing to follow direct orders from the President’s office... I couldn’t do that.”

“I understand. In that situation, you had no real choice.”

“But I felt ill afterwards,” he said. “I know what’s likely to happen to her in that prison. It sickens me just to think about it.”

“What if I told you there were people who could help you break her out of that prison?”

“People?”

“The HLA.”

“You’re a member of...”

“Yes, Crawford. I’ve been a member for some years. The Human Liberation Army. The only group willing to stand up against Deaton and what he’s doing to this planet, to the whole empire. And we’re getting stronger every day.”

Sumner looked again around the bar, noticing, this time, a man seated at the far end. He was vaguely familiar, although not a true regular. But it was the way he stared at Sarah that worried Sumner the most.

“Even if you got her out of the prison, where would you go?” he said, keeping part of his concentration focused on the man.

“Take her back to Frihet.”

“What? How?” Sumner turned his focus entirely on Davison. “You’d never get her out of the Solar System.”

“What if I told you that there are enough of our people aboard Ameridian to fly her out of here? Those crew who aren’t sympathetic to our cause would, naturally, be left behind, unharmed.”

“What you’re telling me is that I know less about my crew than I thought I did.”

Davison smiled. “There are some things that don’t go on a CV.”

Sumner looked back at the man watching them. There was something in his unblinking stare. Something he had seen once before, in a briefing or a demonstration... he had it! He remembered.

“Enhanced lip reading,” he said, turning back to Davison. “There’s a man over there who’s being enhanced with the technology to allow perfect lip reading, and he’s been reading your lips the whole time.”

“Deaton’s security?” Davison struggled to stay calm. She knew it had been a risk coming clean with Sumner, but she had not expected the threat to come from elsewhere.

“Almost certainly.” Sumner stood and held out his hand to Davison. “I think we should continue this conversation elsewhere. Somewhere more private, don’t you?”

Davison, after only a moment’s hesitation, took his hand and stood. They walked, hand-in-hand, out of Dunes, past the man watching them.

Outside, Sumner let go of Davison’s hand.

“You keep on walking. I’ll be along in a minute.”

Davison did not argue. She trusted Sumner enough to believe he knew what he was doing.

As she walked, she glanced back over her shoulder just as the security man exited Dunes by the same door they had used. She saw Sumner rise out of the shadows near the door, wrap his arms about the man’s head and neck, and twist. A sharp crack echoed in the night air and the man slumped to the ground.

As Sumner jogged to catch up with her, she took his hand once more and smiled.

“I guess you’ve chosen whose side you’re on then.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But we need to move quickly. It won’t take them long to start wondering where their lip reader has gone.”

The jailers waited less than two hours, the unbolting of the cell door waking the Princess from her brief sleep.

Bryant watched, with growing disquiet, as the two jailers pulled on their insulated gloves and took the thin metal rods from the heater.

“Wouldn’t you rather do me?” he said in desperation. “Come on guys. You know you get a kick out of using those things on me.”

One of the jailers looked over at him and grinned lasciviously.

“You’re kidding right? Why would we rather do you than this cute thing here? She’s going to be much more fun!”

Princess Thalor, for all the fear in her eyes, did not cry or beg, or make any sound at all. She simply stared ahead, trying not to focus on what was happening before her.

Bryant turned away and closed his eyes. He only wished he could close his ears too.

The red-hot rods swung in against the Princess’s flesh, again and again. They burnt and cut, in some cases leaving the thinnest of lines, in others opening the skin and causing gaping wounds. No part of her body was left untouched, from her raised arms down to her feet.

At first, despite her best resolve, she screamed. Then she fell to whimpers and moans. Bryant knew he had followed a similar pattern himself, but it was even crueler to hear another suffer. She did scream one more time, and Bryant tried his best not to imagine where that particular blow had fallen. He thought of the scarring on his genitals and shuddered.

“Turn her round,” he heard one of the jailers say. “Better not forget the back or Deaton will have our balls.”

Bryant heard the sound of the bolts on the cell door being drawn back, and opened his eyes. Was the President coming to watch in person? No one had bothered to come and see his torture sessions.

The jailers, too, had heard the bolts and turned, their puzzled expressions indicating they were as surprised as Bryant.

A woman in a blue navy uniform stepped into the cell, brandishing an automatic pistol. Before she could even speak, one of the guards lunged towards her.

She shot him, twice, in the chest. He fell to the floor, dead.

The other jailer did not move, other than to raise his hands in surrender.

“Over against the far wall,” ordered the woman, her voice quiet but commanding.

As the jailer moved, Bryant looked closer at the woman. He had recognized the voice, but could hardly believe it.

“Davison?” he said, incredulous. “Sarah?”

“Hello, Bryant,” said Davison, without taking her eyes off the second jailer. “Long time no see.”

She moved into the cell, making room for another person in blue navy uniform to step through.

“Johnson,” said Sumner as he crouched, taking the keys from the dead jailer.

“Sumner!” Bryant was no less surprised, but much less pleased, to see the Captain of Ameridian. “I never thought you’d come to my rescue.”

Sumner unfastened the Princess’s manacles, catching her as she almost collapsed on the floor.

“I didn’t come for you,” he said. “The Princess is the only reason I’m here.”

“Hurry up and free Bryant too,” said Davison. “The longer we take, the less chance we have of getting out of here.”

Leaving the Princess leaning against the cell wall, Sumner, with some reluctance, released Bryant’s wrists from the manacles.

Bryant steadied himself on shaky legs, letting his arms hang down, giving some relief to his shoulders, which ached deep inside.

“Can you make it on your own?” said Davison.

“I can, but what about the Princess?”

“I’ll take her,” said Sumner. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Let’s get moving,” said Davison.

Before she could back out of the door, Bryant stepped closer to her and placed a hand on the automatic. She looked in his eyes and released it.

Bryant turned, raised the gun and, without hesitation or undue emotion, shot the remaining jailer in the head. He then handed the gun back to Davison.

No one spoke as, with Sumner carrying the Princess, they exited the cell.

In the corridor outside, a guard lay on the ground, blood pooled around his head.

“Wait a moment,” said Bryant.

He dragged the uniform jacket off the corpse and draped it over the Princess.

Sumner, taking hold of a corner to keep the jacket in place, said nothing, but nodded slightly.

Bryant quickly pulled the trousers from the dead man and tugged them on. They were too big round the waist, but with a fistful of cloth to keep them from falling, they at least gave him some cover as he hobbled after the others.

An Ameridian shuttle stood in the courtyard of the prison, two guards at attention before it.

Davison waved the others to stop before they would be seen.

“How the hell did you manage that?” said Bryant, lisping slightly with a split and swollen lip.

“It’s amazing what a battleship shuttle, official navy officer uniforms, and a couple of forged signatures can do,” said Davison. “Now stay back out of sight and leave this to me.”

She strode confidently out of the shadows and across the courtyard towards the shuttle. The two guards were immediately alert, and angled their rifles towards her.

“Careful boys,” she said, smiling. “We don’t want any accidents. I’m Communications Officer aboard Ameridian.” She produced her official ID and showed it to them both. “I came down in this with my Captain, only he’s left some important papers inside and has sent me to get them. Okay if I go in?”

The soldiers, after a moment’s hesitation and a glance at each other, nodded and returned their rifles to their sides.

Davison walked between them, smiling. She turned suddenly, a knife pulled from her uniform in her fist. She grabbed the first guard’s hair, pulled it back and dragged the blade across his throat, slicing it open. Before the second guard could react, she stabbed the blade into the side of his neck, cutting the blood vessels, keeping to one side of the sudden gush of blood as she pulled the knife out.

Sumner ran across the courtyard with the Princess over his shoulder. Bryant could not keep up, but dragged himself with every bit of energy he could muster across the open area, expecting at any moment to be shot in the back. He was grateful to Davison for waiting for him. Sumner had hurried ahead into the ship and was already preparing it for take-off.

As Davison strapped the Princess in, then herself, Bryant fumbled with the safety harness of his own seat. His fingers ached and felt swollen, but he finally managed to click the lock home just as Sumner raced the engine and blasted the shuttle away from the prison.

They headed at top speed towards Ameridian, which was no longer in the spaceyard, but sat in geostationary orbit, ready to leave for Frihet.