Exiled to the Stars

by Zellmann, William

  His expression was grim. "This is bad news for all of us, but all we can do is hope that Planet 2 is more suitable for our colony. We will be approaching that system in about nine months. Let us pray it is the planet that can become our home." He signed off without further comment.

  And so they drove on, The lack of exterior viewscreens making life an endless round of sameness.

  Ron was now an expert shot with a laser and blaster, and was studying needler. He didn't have a needler, but he assumed there were some aboard, and skill with it might be handy. Needlers, though, were of little value at anything much more than arm's length. He wished he could study up on sonic cellular disruptors, or simply 'disruptors.' Those cumbersome, shoulder-fired weapons caused cells to flash instantly into steam, creating fatal wounds in microseconds.

  Disruptors were weapons of war, pure and simple. They were useless for hunting, since they did so much tissue damage there would be little meat left. But as war weapons, they had few portable equals. It was comforting to assume that the armory contained a few for colony defense, though he couldn't be sure, and the Captain wouldn't say. If the computer contained VR lessons in disruptor use, Ron was unable to access them.

  One of the main reasons he was so assiduously studying weapons was because it kept him in contact with Tara. He was forced to come up with ever-more-implausible excuses to visit her, to talk to her. Whatever his reasons, Ron was rapidly becoming a weapons expert, aided by his efforts as teacher to others studying weapons in the computer.

  Tara was slowly regaining the self-respect that had been stripped from her. Her knife had begun the process, convincing her that she no longer had to be a victim. Ron's attentions had begun to convince her that perhaps a 'straight' man could be interested in her as a person. And Cesar's enthusiasm for her knowledge of farm life was beginning to reassure her that she didn't have to forever carry the hated label of "whore." Life was once again becoming interesting and worthwhile, as the horror she had lived in Nawlins receded into memory.

  They were sitting in the mess room having another of their interminable chats, when Tara suddenly became grave.

  "Ron, I have to say this, but I'm only going to say it once. I owe you my life. If you hadn't saved me from Dorm 17, I would probably have been one of the suicides. Thank you."

  Ron, deeply embarrassed, reddened and shook his head. "Tara, you owe me nothing. You were always a lovely, vibrant woman; they just wouldn't let you know it. Bringing you down here was the smartest thing I ever did. You have blossomed from a hardened street girl to a wonderful woman, one who is certain to become very important to our colony. You're already important to New Home Village."

  She flashed him a blinding smile and repeated "Thank you" before leaning over and kissing him on the lips. No quick peck, this time. This was a full-on man-woman kiss. Then with a flustered "Oh dear!" she jumped to her feet and fled the mess room, leaving an openmouthed Ron behind. He jumped to his feet, but by then she was gone. He dropped back into his seat, his mind soaring with renewed hope.

  The existence of the Council was having an effect. Educated "Undies," from fear, worry, or simple boredom, were moving to "Drone" dorms to become teachers and respected members of the dorm communities. What had been twenty-five separate small enclaves were becoming groups of neighbors, interacting, trading, and sharing Bingo and card games. More and more pairs of dorms were merging, and it was evident that if the voyage continued long enough, twenty-five would eventually be reduced to thirteen.

  Dorm 25 was the odd solitary dorm, a "Drone" dorm from Egypt. For some reason, perhaps because they had no "twin" sharing their mess room, they refused to participate in the growing community. Oh, they had a seat on the Council, and their Delegate attended every meeting. But he rarely spoke. Mostly he simply sat, glowering at the others. Visitors were discouraged, they never advertised bunk openings, and they refused to enter into the growing trading community. The Captain confided that the residents of Dorm 25 were a special case. All were members of some sort of doomsday cult, actually bent on destroying mankind. They, with their leader, had been rounded up and consigned to Dorm 25 specifically because it didn't have a partner dorm; EarthGov was concerned that the group might be a threat to any other dorm with whom they were partnered.

  The leader, a Sheik Al Faweh, was a tall, thin, swarthy man with a beaked nose. By the second meeting, he had been unanimously elected dorm delegate, and by the third his issue shipsuit had been replaced by a robe and turban produced by the dorm's women from sheets, and he peremptorily demanded the Captain refer to him as "Prophet." The Captain ignored the demand, of course, though he did use the title "Sheik."

  Overall, though, as the voyage dragged on, the threat of invasion by other dorms declined, along with the population of violent offenders. The Council began considering a proposal to convert the various dorm militias into a colony security force, to defend the colony from natural hazards, inimical wildlife, and even hostile natives. Several of the Council members derided their compatriots as old women and the threats as science fiction, but others were seriously concerned about terrorists and revolutionaries who would only reveal themselves after grounding.

  Still, a majority of the members agreed that an organized security force was a good idea, and that was when the real fighting began.

  The age-old question arose immediately. The ancient Romans had asked it: Quid Custodiet ipsos Custodes? Who will guard the guardians? And they never found a satisfactory answer; Caesars had been created and murdered by the Praetorian Guard.

  The question had been asked thousands of times since. If we amass sufficient armed might to protect us, How can we be certain that those weapons will never be used to subjugate us? And always, there was no satisfactory answer. Once they grounded, the provision being discussed would even fold the ship's red-clad security detachment into the colony security force.

  And the Captain had already agreed that if the provision were adopted, once grounded he would release the colony's armory to the security force.

  In the end, the proposal created so much dissension that it was tabled until a later date.

  And the ship soared on through hyperspace.

  ******

  6 February 2105

  John Gallegos took a deep breath before knocking on the Captain's door. He wasn't certain the Captain would approve of some of the things he had done on his own intiative. But this was important, and John Gallegos was the ship's Security Officer. It was his duty to tell the Captain what he'd learned.

  "Captain," He began, "I think we may have a serious problem."

  Captain Angelo smiled and waved him to a seat. "I knew things were going too smoothly," he said.

  "Yes sir," John replied. He took another deep breath. "We caught some colonists in a restricted area again," he began. "Three of them, from 25."

  Captain Angelo frowned. "From 25 again? It seems a lot of our trespassers are coming from 25."

  John nodded. "Yes, sir. I checked the records, and this is the eighth group of three we've caught." He frowned. "I'm beginning to wonder how many we haven't caught.

  "The thing is," he continued, "I decided to try to throw a scare into this bunch. We took them down to the office and did a regular interrogation. It would have scared the tar out of me!" he paused. "But it didn't do much for them. It wasn't until I told them we were going to dump the contents of their tablets that they all came apart. Lots of shouting and jumping around; we had to restrain two of them.

  "Well that made me really curious, so I had the computer copy all the files on all their tablets before we returned them." He shrugged. "We gave them the usual lecture and threats and turned them loose. But the computer broke the encryption on the tablets, and amid other things, it came up with this." He threw several printouts onto the Captain's desk.

  The Captain frowned again. "What is it? I don't see…"

  "You're holding it wrong, sir," John said gently, and rotated the crude line drawings. The Captain's frown
faded, replaced with an incredulous look. "But this is a crude drawing of the ship!" he exclaimed.

  John nodded. "Yes sir. And I can guarantee that this bunch didn't do it alone. It appears that Dorm 25 has been sending out scouting parties and is assembling maps to guide…well, who knows what?" He shrugged.

  The Captain looked up from the drawing, his face furious. "Any idea what they're after?"

  John shrugged again. "Well, I've studied their map, sir, and checked the records. We've caught most of the trespassers in or near the Engineering spaces. I can't guess what they're after down there, but that seems to be their target."

  Captain Angelo swarmed to his feet, throwing the printouts onto his desk. "All right, damn it. Send some guys down to bring in that phony 'prophet' of theirs. We'll find out what's going on!"

  ******

  Another damned escort mission! When Kurt Steiner had been accepted for Security training, he'd had all these visions of exciting, do-or-die armed missions. But all they'd been doing for more than a year was escort scared colonists around. At least it was every week, now. It wasn't quite so boring.

  Kurt followed Sergeant Villa toward Dorm 25. He sighed. The weirdoes again. They gave him the creeps, with their manners and attitudes. They acted like they had this big secret; the key to the universe. But they crept around like comic-vid villains, hunched over, heads lowered, constantly looking around them suspiciously. Kurt smiled to himself. All they needed was long black coats with big, pulled-up collars and old-style brimmed hats pulled down over their eyes. And there were no smiles here; no friendliness, only dour, suspicious glares. Kurt was glad they were just going to pick up that geek with the robes, and get out again.

  It seemed they were expected. Sheik Al Faweh was waiting a short distance inside the dorm, with four burly men in shipsuits. He demanded to know their business.

  The Sergeant replied politely that the Captain would like to talk to him, and that they were to escort him to the Captain's office.

  Suddenly the sheik began shouting, "Help! Help! They're kidnapping me! They're going to kill me!", and the other four men jumped the redsuits.

  Kurt's stunner had barely cleared his holster when one of the big men knocked it from his hand. He backed up and assumed a defensive posture, only to be hit from behind. He staggered, but regained his feet. Two of the others were already down, and the Sergeant was being held by one man while another slammed blow after blow into his face and body.

  But people were flocking in from every side, men, women, and even children. A child no more than ten years old eeled between two adults and slammed a fist into Kurt's groin. He sagged with agony, and suddenly blows and kicks were coming from every side. He fell to the ground, and assumed a fetal position, but it was hopeless. A seemingly endless flurry of agonizing kicks faded with his consciousness as a wave of blackness descended.

  Chapter 6

  06 February 2105

  John Gallegos called the Captain, described the emergency, and had him watch the surveillance footage of the deaths of the redsuits. There had been no warning, and the attack was anything but orderly. The redsuits had been simply overrun by an avalanche of people and beaten to death. They had stunned dozens, but these people didn't seem to fear stunning; in fact, they seemed to welcome it.

  When the redsuits returned to Dorm 25 some hours later, they carried more than just stunners. Infuriated by the footage, the Captain had unlocked the weapons locker and issued blasters, needlers and flechetters. The latter were modified semi-automatic, sawed-off ten gauge shotguns. Each round of ammunition fired fifteen flechettes, winged, hardened needles that cut gaping holes in flesh at close range.

  Dorm 25 was ready for them when they returned. The airtight hatch had been jammed open so the Captain couldn't simply lock them in and pump out the air. Barricades had been erected in the passageway from anything loose, including bunks that had somehow been pried from the walls and floor, and even the food processing machinery. The rebels had the first team's stunners, which they used to great effect, and several lasers and blasters, likely from the same black market suppliers that had provided Ron Creding's weapons.

  But mostly they had people. Angry, fanatical people, willing to die for their leader. And die they did. The battle lasted for more than an hour. Twenty redsuits were killed, their weapons taken and used against the remaining troops. There were no surviving wounded redsuits. They had been stomped to death.

  It was a near thing, but the redsuits prevailed. Then it was time to count the bodies and clean up the mess. Over 100 colonists were dead, and another 40 wounded. Men, women, and even children had flung themselves at the redsuits. Only 35 residents, all children, were unhurt. Sheik Al Faweh was found among the dead, a laser still in his hand.

  Many of the wounded tried to attack the med techs treating them, and had to be sedated so they could be treated. It was several days later that the Captain could report to the Council.

  "We know, now, what was going on," he began. "It would have been helpful if EarthGov had provided more information. If they had, we might have avoided this bloodbath." He sighed. "But we would have still had the problem. EarthGov told us they were a 'doomsday cult', which, if you think about it, is a virtually meaningless phrase. We were told that they were 'isolated' in Dorm 25. But nobody saw fit to mention that they were suicidal fanatics.

  "Essentially, they are convinced that mankind is inherently sinful and evil, and 'infests' the Earth. They saw it as their mission to destroy mankind, and return the Earth to the 'pristine purity' it had enjoyed before man developed. EarthGov's solution was to ship them off Earth.

  "What EarthGov failed to consider was that to these people, the colonization project is simply a way to spread the 'plague' of mankind to other planets. They decided it was their obvious duty to make certain this ship never grounded. They were sending out scouting parties to learn the layout of the ship. They planned to invade Engineering, and explode the Combs drive, which wouldn't be hard; it's a barely controlled antimatter bomb now. If that didn't destroy the ship, they'd try to explode the fusion reactor." He chuckled sourly. "Obviously they're not scientists, or they'd know that there's a large difference between a fusion reactor and a fission reactor.

  "There are seventy-six survivors, all women and children. That, by the way, is not through the efforts of the group. It's simply that the redsuits were more reluctant to shoot at women and children. It cost three of them their lives. The cultists seemed to make no distinction at all." He shook his head. "I guess you could say they were equal opportunity terrorists."

  "So what now, Captain?" Cesar asked. "What do we do with the survivors? We cannot trust them not to try again. Can you lock them away?"

  "Yes, sir," the Captain replied. "Unfortunately I don't think it's that simple. Over half of those survivors are children. Should we lock them up or punish them for something for which their parents were responsible?" He shrugged. "That is one of the reasons I am reporting this to you. You, as a Council, need to consider. Can these children be saved? Retrained or reprogrammed, as it were? Remember, our colony will have only the people aboard. We will need every person we can get to build a world, and the young are particularly valuable.

  "Please consider it. Forty-one of the seventy-six survivors are children between the ages of birth and seventeen. I wish to know if you would like to consider some sort of supervised adoption for at least the younger ones." He shrugged. "As far as the adults are concerned, I plan to simply replace the food machines in their mess room, and then weld the airtight hatch to the dorm closed. Call it a jail. They will have everything they need, but will be confined to their dorm. Once we ground, you councilors must decide their fates."

  There was much discussion, of course, and the meeting dragged on far into the "night." It was finally decided that the children twelve and under should be made available for adoption. Children over twelve would be considered on a case-by-case basis, after interviews with the ship's Counselor. The Counselor wa
s a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, but he was confident he could make valid decisions after an in-depth interviewing and test session.

  As the meeting finally broke up, the Captain asked Cesar and Vlad to remain behind.

  "Gentlemen," he began, "I have another problem, but this one involves ship security, so it is a decision I alone must make. Our ship's security complement consisted of thirty trained security men." He sighed. "We lost twenty of that thirty in the assault on Dorm 25, including my Security Officer. I am concerned that my remaining force is insufficient to maintain security.

  "If you are willing," he continued, "I would like your militia to volunteer to serve as our security force for the remainder of the voyage."

  He held up a hand as Cesar started to speak. "Please, sir. I know the council has been having seemingly endless discussions about the militias and security. But as I said, this is a matter of ship's security, and as long as we are in space, the decision is mine alone."

  Cesar smiled. "I'm tempted to say 'Of course' immediately, Captain. However, I'm afraid I'm no expert on the capabilities of or requirements on our militia. If I may, I would like to suggest that you talk with Raymond Koh and perhaps even Ron Creding. Should they agree, I would be delighted to oblige."

  Two redsuits were sent to bring Raymond and Ron to the conference room.

  "Finally!" Captain Angelo exclaimed, "The redoubtable Messer Koh! It is a true pleasure, sir."

  Raymond flushed as he shook hands with the Captain. "The pleasure is mine, Captain. How may I be of service to you?"

  Captain Angelo explained his request. Raymond frowned, thinking hard.

  "Before I can answer, Captain," he said slowly, "there's something I must tell you. When you attacked 25, I gather you were surprised to find lasers and blasters."

  The Captain nodded, his expression slightly puzzled. "Yes, actually I was. We didn't expect anything but our peoples' stunners and s few improvised weapons – pipes and such. We were told that colonists weren't permitted weapons."