"Attention - all hands: rebel group in close proximity. All gunner platforms, make ready."

Bret sat at one of the gunner platforms of the battleship while he charged up the guns - the warship was too large, and with its primary purpose to protect the Federation, Earth's interstellar empire, the responsibility of interstellar warfare had quickly been discovered to be simply too much for a single individual to handle in one go, so the gunner platforms had to be manned by numerous crew members - thankful his blast helmet stopped anyone from seeing what he was truly thinking.

For Bret, who'd joined the Federation's navy so long ago, when he'd been younger, more naive, he'd been an idealist who'd believed the Federation was a just, noble institution. But that turned out to be the drugs; it was, ironically, a bitter pill for him to swallow when he discovered just how corrupt the Empire was.

He was not alone. Many people in the Federation'd long since become horrified by how Earth's government and way of life had turned out, with freedom of speech banned, drugs being used to control the populace and anyone trying to speak out, losing their memories or being sentenced to exile on some planet, where they'd be worked to death until their deeds were forgotten, until the next rebel.

But the more the Federation tightened its grip over the galaxy, the more and more rebel groups rose.

Bret wondered about this one; as usual, only the senior officers of the squadron would even be allowed to know the full story, which only highlighted the Federation's desire for control. It was probably the same story; the further out into space, the easier it was for these rebel groups to spring out of nowhere.

Bret wished he could join them.

He had become disenchanted with the Federation ever since he had discovered he was being drugged and it was increasingly hard for him to keep his focus and not become one of the lackeys like everyone else. But, he was not brave enough. The Federation armed forces kept a close eye on anyone spreading sedition. If caught, they were executed without trial. And the moment it was done, the Federation would simply jettison the cool corpse out into the vacuum of space, where it would be forgotten.

"Attention - rebel fighters are closing."

Bret trembled in his seat, glancing up and down the row; like himself, all of the gunners were at their seats, hands grasping the firing columns, but the helmets stopped him from seeing if any of them felt like he did, privately.

"Concentrate, Vyon," a voice growled.

Bret didn't move, knowing the gunner's mate would realise he didn't want to do this. He straightened his back, and instantly the inside of his visor showed the real-time view of the fighters as they approached the battleship at STL.

'Get out of here,' Bret thought to himself desperately.'Go on, get out of here!'

But the fighters never did.

"FIRE AT WILL!" The gunner's mate boomed through the gun row. Bret was unsurprised by that; this particular gunner's mate didn't career for the need to point the cannons at a target and fire as one too often.

Bret took careful aim - at nothing, and opened fire. Bolts of energy spat out of the blaster cannons and shot into space. He hoped with the continuous firing action of the other cannons, the gunner's mate wouldn't notice. But sadly it was not his day.

"Vyon, concentrate; you're supposed to be blasting those rebel scum out of the sky!" The gunner's mate spat.

Bret nodded, and he shifted in his chair again. He took a deep breath, paused and he pointed his cannons….straight at the other cannons.

Instantly, there were stunned, indignant and furious outcries from the other cannons; some of the gunners screamed in pain as the blasts on some of the platforms caused a massive overload of the guns.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"What?!"

"TRAITOR!"

"Rebel scum!"

"What was that?!"

"WHO DID THAT?"

"Always know there was something not right with that guy!"

"Who did that?"

"GUN DECK 6X; WHAT IS HAPPENING?!"

The gunner's mate was coming out of his shock at what was happening. Quickly he drew out his blaster and pointed it at Bret Vyon's head before he sounded the security alarm. "Get out of that chair, Vyon. Or should I say, traitor?" He snarled.

For a moment Bret wondered if he should or could even say his weapon platform was malfunctioning; blaming technology was an old, favourite pastime of the human race, but as his mother always told him a bad workman always blames his tools.

But he still thought about leaping away from his console and swearing blind his innocence. They wouldn't all believe him, but it would give him some credibility, especially if he acted now in such a way it appeared convincing. For a moment, Bret was considering doing just that….

Even the gunner's mate couldn't refute an accident.

But….

No.

The investigation team would determine he had deliberately pointed the cannons down at the other platforms. At the same time, while he wouldn't likely be allowed anywhere near another gunner's platform like this one, Bret would still be living in the Navy and unable to get away from the purgatory of life as one of its slaves. He would be cashiered, executed, or exiled. Neither of them was an attractive prospect, but if he could do more good….

His decision was made, Bret continued firing at the Federation fighters; the pilots, trained and highly skilled at what they did, were taken aback when they realised the fire was not friendly and was coming from the battleship.

He kept firing even when he felt the cold barrel of the blaster pistol shoved into the back of his skull, and his hands were still holding onto the joysticks even when his vision went dark.

At last, he was finally free and with some luck, he had finally done some good.