Exiled to the Stars (11 page)

"As for the time constraint, I'm sorry, but I will be dealing with your gang as soon as the med techs permit, and that's Tuesday. There are six of you, and about a hundred and eighty residents, not counting you or the gang. That's about thirty apiece, and three days to do it. But you must be able to give Cesar his assurances Tuesday. Any delay and the survivors of the gang might come back with friends."

Pereira was still scowling. "And what if we tell Cesar Montero no deal? What if we hire our own 'sheriff,' and form our own militia?'

Raymond shrugged again. "That's your choice, of course. But I'd advise you to have some bully boys all set to defend you if those thugs come back for revenge."

They argued for another half hour before Raymond could make his escape.

"They'll go for it," he told Cesar. "The English requirement will be the hardest to sell, But those people have been terrorized for months. They'll accept it."

Cesar smiled. "I'm certain they will. But if we hadn't insisted on it as a condition of the merger, it would take months to talk them into it – if we could do it at all."

On Monday, the dorm 8 elders reported to Cesar Montero that the merger had been overwhelmingly approved. As Raymond had predicted, the English requirement had been the most cited objection, but since the alternative was failure of the merger, few let their objections transfer into votes.

On Tuesday morning, Raymond selected three of his best unarmed fighters to accompany him to Dorm 8. "No batons," he said. "When we run these creeps off, they're going to go searching for a gang to join, or perhaps to round up a gang of their own to take the dorm back. I'd like the batons to be our 'secret weapon.'"

Boyet Mamerto, Raymond's pick for "sheriff" of Dorm 8, pointed out that the Dorm 8 thugs already knew about the batons.

Raymond nodded. "Yes, but all they know is that we have 'clubs'. I'm told they've been scrounging around for pieces of pipe for themselves. If we don't use the batons, I don't think they will attach much importance to them.

"Now," he continued, "We're not out to kill anyone, but I'd rather have one of them dead than one of us. Pull your punches if you can, but don't risk yourself to do it. Everyone got it?"

The gang was, as usual, crowded into the bunk section they occupied. There were eight of them, street punks. Their leader was a large man, starting to go to fat. He was the first to see the approaching Raymond.

"Hey!" he said in a friendly tone, "Koh! No hard feelings, eh? Come sit down and let's talk about our share of the beer." Raymond shook his head silently, and the man seemed to notice Raymond's men for the first time.

He chuckled. "Well, maybe there
are
some hard feelings, after all." He signaled his men, who started edging out of the bunk section warily. "That's too bad," the man continued, smiling. "It'd be better if we did this
friendly
, but if we have to kick your asses first…" The man launched a flat-footed kick, but Raymond was ready for it. He dodged, and when the man's leg was fully extended, he grabbed the foot and twisted it violently, dislocating the knee and twisting the man's face into a bunk stanchion. He shoved, and the man fell to the deck, howling in agony. A quick kick to the head cut off the noise.

Raymond whirled as a tall, thin man swung a fist at his kidney. Raymond blocked it and grabbed the man's arm and twisted, forcing his head down as Raymond spun him headfirst into a bunk frame. Raymond turned back, but none of the gang were still standing. One of his men was nursing a broken arm, and a cut on Boyet's face was bleeding, but no one appeared seriously hurt.

Raymond walked over to the gang's leader, and slapped his face until he regained consciousness, grunting with pain. "Now, listen, creep," Raymond growled. "You and these other animals don't live here anymore. Dorm 7 and Dorm 8 are merging into one. If you ever show your ugly mug in either of them again, it'll be the last thing you ever do. Got it?"

Tears of pain were running down the man's unshaven cheeks. When he didn't answer immediately, Raymond put a foot on the dislocated knee and applied pressure, The man cried out, and then replied. "Yes! Yes! I got it!"

Raymond and his men carried each of the thugs to the dorm's hatch, dumping them unceremoniously in the corridor. Raymond told his men to get the men's locker keys, then escorted Boyet and the man with the broken arm to the med bay and waited for them.

By the time they returned, Cesar had convened a meeting of the residents of Dorm 8. He explained the new regime to them, and launched into his speech about their responsibility to become educated and full partners in the new colony, instead of peasants and laborers. His audience seemed fairly receptive, but there were few smiles and many grimaces

Cesar introduced Raymond, who had two of his best baton men run through some drills, and then announced the formation of a militia in Dorm 8, and an invitation to join it. He then introduced Boyet, the new "Sheriff." Fortunately, Boyet was fluent in Bisayan, which made sure all understood his comments, and incidentally helped guarantee his welcome in his new dorm.

Finally, Cesar played his last little bit of stagecraft. He asked if anyone had anything else to discuss and, as prearranged, Reynaldo Pereira stood up.

"Yes," he said dramatically, "There is one more thing we must do. 'Dorm 7' and 'Dorm 8' are EarthGov names, and they divide us. If we are to become one, we must find a way to share an identity."

Cesar looked thoughtful. "Hmm. Yes, I see your point. We can no longer be the residents of numbered dorms. We must find an identity that unites us, instead of dividing us. Do you have a suggestion?"

Reynaldo nodded. "We Elders have talked it over. We have nearly 400 people, and we feel that what we are forming here is a village, much like those in the Provinces back home. We should name ourselves a village!"

Cesar smiled. "An excellent suggestion! I suppose you have considered a name for this village?"

Reynaldo beamed. He was thoroughly enjoying performing in this stage show. "We had rather thought 'New Cebu' would be appropriate."

Cesar Montero's smile turned rueful. "Since we come from a completely different island, I doubt your neighbors would approve that name. Besides, I'm not certain that a name from the Philippines is appropriate. That, after all, is our
old
world, one to which we will never return. Perhaps we should find a name that will indicate our hopes for a
new
world. Let us think about it, and give our people a chance to suggest names."

As expected, his suggestion was adopted almost unanimously. The meeting dissolved with the Dorm 8 residents excitedly discussing the new arrangements. A large group of the younger men gathered around the table where Raymond and Boyet were taking the names of volunteers for the militia.

The discussions, arguments, and yes, even fights, were still going on two weeks later, when the entire ship was startled by the ship's loudspeaker system.

"This is the Captain speaking," blared from speakers in every compartment for the first time since the launch. "There will be a meeting of all the dorms tomorrow at 900. Each dorm is to send one delegate with the authority to speak for that dorm. Crewmembers will be sent to escort the delegates to the meeting. If no delegate has been selected in a dorm, the escort will select a resident at random. Every dorm
will
be represented. That is an order." The speakers went abruptly silent.

The responding hubbub had barely begun when Reynaldo Pereira was at Cesar's bunk, demanding to know who would represent Dorm 8.

Cesar shrugged. "I haven't had a chance to think about it yet," he replied. "I will represent Dorm 7, of course, and I will select the delegate from Dorm 8, since we are now one and I was elected Kapitan. If you are selected, I will let you know."

Reynaldo protested loudly, but finally allowed himself to be led away, fuming.

Cesar called upon Ron Creding. "You're the only one who has actually met the Captain," he explained, "and he apparently approves of you."

Ron frowned. "But I live in Dorm 7," he said. "Selecting me could lead to a lot of resentment in Dorm 8."

Cesar shrugged, a faint smile widening his lips. "Ah, but we are all one, now. There will be no 'Dorm 7' or 'Dorm 8.'" The smile faded. "It doesn't matter. I feel it important that you be the other delegate."

Promptly at 0845 the next morning, crewmen clad in the red of Security appeared at the entrances to both dorms. There was only one of them per dorm, and they barely spoke, but the stunners on their hips announced their authority.

The escorts led them silently through corridors, some of which had to be unlocked, and up lifts, which required retinal scans.

Finally they were escorted down a final corridor and into a large conference room, with twenty-six padded chairs surrounding a large oval table with one flat end. The chair at the flat end, obviously for the Captain, was larger and more comfortable than the others.

As they approached the room, they could already hear a woman loudly complaining about being "accosted by armed thugs" and "brought here by force."

The woman was a large Caucasian with an equally large voice. By the time Cesar and Ron entered the room, she was volubly cursing the early arrivers as "cowards" for failing to protest "this high-handed, illegal treatment!"

Ron didn't know the woman, but he knew the type: loud and obnoxious. The kind who swore that no one would 'take advantage of them'. Often, they became political agitators, convinced that anyone who didn’t share their political beliefs were cowards, traitors, or criminals. Ron noticed that her hands were scarred. He wondered how many violent demonstrations she had attended or incited.

No one seemed anxious to sit near the woman, but as the room filled, there was no choice. There was only one seat per dorm.

Ron thought he recognized the heavyset man from Dorm 17 who finally sat down next to the woman. But he was certain he recognized the slight young man with the dead eyes that accompanied the man. Paco. One of the two men they had swapped with from Dorm 7. Rafael Rodriguez' sidekick. Paco also recognized Ron and Cesar, but his face carried no expression as he nodded slightly. Ron suppressed a shudder.

After a moment, the heavyset man backhanded the still-complaining woman across the face and told her to "shut up, bitch" in a gravelly voice.

She squawked and "well, I never'd,", but no one protested the movement. She stared daggers at everyone at the table, but she didn't vent her obvious hostility verbally.

Precisely at 0900, the Captain entered, and took his seat at the head of the table. For a long moment, he simply looked at those around the table. He was wearing his dress uniform, the black and silver of Command with four gold bars sewn into the shoulders. The loud and angry woman opened her mouth to begin her litany of complaint, but then glanced at the large man and remained silent.

Finally, the Captain spoke. "Until now, I have met only a few of you. That is about to change. We are now on course and on schedule, and you'll be happy to hear that the hyperdrive is functioning flawlessly, which is never a sure thing. I am Captain Angelo, and it is my responsibility to get us to a planet where we can make a home. Now, I would like to go around the table, with each of you introducing yourselves and your dorms."

Seated on the Captain's right was a thin, rather nervous-looking middle-aged man who introduced himself as Rikhart Janeson, from Dorm 12. The introductions proceeded smoothly until they reached the woman whose face was beginning to bruise.

"Finally!" She said huffily. "I'm Sarah Welsey from Dorm 21, and I protest this entire proceeding! I don't know what kind of ship you're running here, Captain, but to have us
forced
to this meeting at
gunpoint
is illegal and uncalled for! And then, once I arrive
under protest
, I'm
assaulted
by this
savage
, and none of your precious sailors even lifted a
finger
to prevent it! I shall certainly report this outrage at the
first
opportunity!" She swung her head to ensure that everyone at the table was subjected to her angry glare. Her already angry face reddened even more when she turned her glare on the man who had slapped her, and he blew her a kiss. She turned back to the Captain. "I
demand
that you
do
something!"

Captain Angelo was suppressing a smile, and he wasn't the only one around the table. The Captain forced his expression to seriousness. "Ah, yes," he began. "Sarah Welsey. I have an entire folder on my computer devoted to your amusing rants and complaints. Tell me," he continued, as she seemed ready to explode. "Did you listen to
anything
you were told during your training? We are many light-years from Earth and EarthGov, and we won't be going back.
Ever
. And you, you silly woman, had better get used to the idea that out here, legal is what I say it is! For now, please be quiet and listen. You might even learn something. I doubt it, but I'm an optimist." He turned his gaze to the man who had slapped Sarah Welsey, as she huffed, "
Well
! I never!"

The man beside her chuckled. "Oh," he said, "I'll bet you have." He turned to the Captain with an arrogant sneer. "I'm Jake Reilly, from 'Cago. Hell, I
owned
'Cago, 'til the only man I trusted sold me out. Now, I own Dorm 17 and 18, and in a couple of weeks, I'll have 15 and 16, as well." He turned an ugly smile on the representatives of those unlucky dorms before turning back to the Captain. "Anyways, we're doin' just fine right now, Captain. You just stay up here and prance around in your fancy uniform and drive the ship. We'll take care of the rest. By the time we find a planet you won't have to talk to anyone but me."

The Welsey woman gasped, and most of the others around the table looked shocked. They
had
listened to their training, and they were waiting to see how the Captain would answer this direct challenge to his authority.

He seemed unfazed. "Ah, yes. Messer Reilly. I've been looking forward to our meeting. You realize, of course, that your comments just now constitute mutiny.