The Frihet Rebellion
Chapter 11: Loyalty

As Bryant regained consciousness, his first thought was to panic.

They had been attacked.

Jenny!

Jenny was dead. He had looked into her lifeless eyes. Dead because of him.

His heart racing, he fought to open stiff eyes, tried to push himself up from his prone position and failed. He fell back with pain wracking his entire body.

The surroundings swam hazily into focus. Solid walls. Colored lights. Electronics all around.

Spearhead.

He was aboard Spearhead, but how?

His memory, disjointed, grey as through a fog, flashed images of those who attacked him writhing in pain, dying. And Jon, carefully stepping over the bodies.

Jon.

“I see you are awake.”

The voice was Jon’s and, as Bryant fought to hold back the vomit that rose in his throat with the liquidity of his vision, his friend stepped into his line of sight.

“Jon.” His voice was scratchy and he coughed with the dryness of it. “What happened?”

“Here,” said Jon, holding out a large beaker of water. “Drink this. It might help your throat.”

Bryant took the beaker in a shaky hand and drank it. His throat eased a little.

“I’m not sure what happened at the end,” he said. “I thought I saw you…”

“Good chance, given that I was there,” said Jon, smiling. “I felt that you were in trouble. You know my people were highly developed empaths.”

“Not sure I’ve ever been so pleased about it either,” said Bryant.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t in time to save your girlfriend.”

“Jenny.” Her face faded into his mind, but it was her face on the alley ground and he pushed it from him. “Not your fault, Jon. Not your fault.”

“Or yours either,” said Jon. “You might not believe it now, but it wasn’t your fault either.”

“Perhaps,” said Bryant, unconvinced, unable to forget those lifeless eyes. “I’m not clear on a lot of things at the moment. Not least what happened to the guys who attacked me?”

“They’re dead.”

“That much I remember. I’m just not sure how they died.”

“I killed them,” said Jon flatly.

“But…”

“Bryant,” said Jon, interrupting. “I may not have been entirely honest with you on how far developed the telepathic ability of my race is. It never seemed necessary before. But I killed those men last night with my mind. It was not something I ever intended to use, here on Earth.”

Bryant paused a moment, trying to fully comprehend what his friend was saying.

“Your mind,” he said finally, quietly. “Shit, Jon, that’s some powerful stuff you’ve been hiding.”

“Not hiding,” said Jon. “Just not promoting.”

“Exactly how powerful is your mind?” said Bryant. “I mean, what can you do?”

“I do not think now is the time for an in-depth discussion, Bryant, but as well as being an empath, I have some ability in the fields you humans call telepathy and telekinesis. I would not know how to describe all of it, but I am not some all-powerful freak. My ability is limited and not always easy, or painless, to use. I am not a superhero like in your human comic books.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” said Bryant.

“It does not matter,” said Jon. “But you do. I have had you hooked up to Spearhead’s medical systems since I got you back here, so the healing should be rapid. But there was a lot to heal, so I am not sure.”

“I feel like shit, but I’m alive. Where they shot me hurts like hell, but the holes have already healed over.”

“Good. Not much longer and you will be back up on your feet.”

“Yes,” said Bryant. “But what do I do then?”

“In what way?”

“Loyalty,” said Bryant. “I’ve always been loyal to Earth.”

The words of one of Jenny’s killers came back to him, a dim but unforgettable memory.

Goodbye from the President.

“Where should my loyalty lie now?” he said. “Just exactly whose side am I on?”

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