Exiled to the Stars

by Zellmann, William

  Cesar nodded. "As I suspected. Would people dosed with it attack others on command?"

  Koumanides shrugged tiredly. "I don't know, sir. I'm not qualified to say."

  "I understand," Cesar replied. "But hang onto enough of that powder for a complete analysis later. We have to be able to judge how serious a threat these people represent."

  Chapter 10

  Firstmonth 4, Year 1

  Helen Shourd spoke to the assembled Council with the simple ease of an experienced public speaker. "I don't know if I can describe what it was like," she began. "We were aware of our surroundings and the others around us. We could attend to our children, and our bodily needs. We even remembered everything. But somehow we were content to simply sit and wait for a disciple to come and tell us to do something. Then we would do anything he ordered. We didn't even talk much.

  "But the Prophet could rouse us to instant eagerness to do his bidding." She shrugged. "I don't know whether it was his voice or something else, but if the Prophet spoke to us, we were immediately enthusiastic, no matter what he proposed or demanded.

  "When the first group of redsuits came, and the Prophet shouted for help, it created a panic so great that even death was preferable to it. I wasn't close enough to be involved in that, thank God. Three of our people were trampled by others fighting to reach the invaders.

  "But the Prophet told us that the Captain would send others to kill him, and we must kill them first. Men injured themselves tearing apart bunks and food machines with their bare hands to build barricades. We scrambled to find anything we could use as a weapon. There wasn't much, but the Prophet said we must defend him against the infidels with our bodies, if necessary. And somehow, that sounded right!"

  She shrugged. "When the redsuits came back, you know what happened. Our people were slaughtered. Oh," she protested, waving a dismissal. "I don't blame the redsuits. They were fighting for their lives. But we were fighting for the Prophet's life, something much more important. I'm told that the Prophet's body was found behind a wall of bodies, only a few of them armed. That kind of fanaticism does not come naturally.

  "Messer Montero has provided you with the analysis of that powder, and it seems clear that powder was responsible for almost 200 deaths on both sides." She shrugged. "I can tell you I'm sorry, and I am sincere; my husband of 27 years died in that fight. But that is the past, and it is time now to look to the future.

  "I have tried to consider the facts from your side as well as ours. To you, we appear murderous fanatics, willing to die if we can die killing one of you. Some at this table think even now that my presence here is part of a plot to get us released so we can kill more of you. To you I say, 'visit us'. What you will find will not be murderous fanatics, but 32 confused, frightened and mourning women and children. Some have even allowed their children to be adopted away from them, so the children, at least, would have a chance on our new world. 21 frightened women and 11 scared children are not an army of fanatics; rather, we are refugees from a kind of horror I hope you never experience.

  "But you are a governing Council. It is your privilege and responsibility to consider the colony as a whole, disregarding many of your personal feelings. I ask you to do that now.

  "I am told there are just over 3500 colonists surviving. That is a shocking number. Before even moving off the ship we have lost over a fourth of our population.

  "You here are educated enough to understand the need for genetic diversity. Only two of our women are beyond childbearing age, though I am nearing it. I ask you to consider the effect of removing thirty possible breeders from the gene pool here.

  "You, we need all the genetic diversity we can manage. I'm fifty-one years old. Fortunately, I have not yet reached menopause. Now, none of us is thrilled with the idea of becoming baby factories, and I doubt I could carry a baby to term. But I would be willing to try. I might deliver a preemie, and I might even have to adopt it out. But I'm willing to try to contribute to the survival of our colony.

  "Yes," she continued, "I said 'our' colony. We are as much a part of it as you are. Through no fault of our own, we betrayed your trust. All we ask is a chance to prove to you and the other colonists that we are not monsters, a chance to become productive members of the colony. All that is needed is to allow us to mingle with the other colonists and let nature take its course."

  "Very pretty," said a man down the table, "and very persuasive, if I hadn't been involved in the clean-up after the battle. Perhaps you remember. We had to be surrounded by redsuits armed with lasers and blasters at all times, with those oh-so-innocent women huddled a few feet away glaring at us." He rose to his feet.

  "Those redsuits were the only thing keeping us alive in there. And we were just cleaning up!" He glared at the woman. "Okay, I can accept that most of you were under the influence of drugs. But I'd bet there are a few true believers in there as well. Fanatics who would lure a man to her bed, only so she could slit his throat."

  Helen Shourd shook her head. "There certainly were some like that," she replied, "but the drug only enhanced their beliefs. They were the screaming, clawing animals at the forefront of the attacks. They were the ones trampling their friends and even their children to be the first to defend the prophet – and the first to die.

  "The ones you saw were the ones under the influence of the drug." She shrugged. "They may have appeared threatening, but what they really were was confused, horrified, and grieving. The true fanatics would have charged, blasters or no. Yes, we had some, and we all knew who they were. But only one survived the battle, badly wounded. I'm told she attacked the Med Tech that tried to save her. At any rate, she did not survive." Suddenly she smiled. "As I said, the best way to allay your fears is to visit us. You won't need a redsuit this time, and who knows? You might even find a woman you like!"

  But her arguments did not sway the Council. They refused to release the Dorm 25 survivors. They considered them an ongoing threat, and felt that the people of the colony were too crowded aboard the ship to take chances with suicidal fanatics.

  The majority agreed, however, that once the colonists left the ship, the risk would be lower, and they would reconsider the request. They also agreed to permit Helen, as their elected representative, to resume the dorm's seat on the Council. They stipulated, however, that she could only attend meetings under guard, with armed escort to and from the secured Dorm Boyet had created from a large storage space. The latter condition was as much for Helen's safety as for that of the colonists; there were many hard feelings remaining.

  "So," Cesar asked Helen during the meeting's lunch break, "How did a NorAm missionary end up in a doomsday cult in Egypt? I thought Christian missionaries weren't welcome in the Islamic Districts."

  She shook her head. "They aren't. But Sam was pigheaded. We just kept our heads down, and Sam considered the occasional beating the price he had to pay to minister to our small congregation.

  "As I said, our congregation was small, less than two dozen. When several of them left to join the Prophet's cult, Sam went to find out what was going on. He was gone a long time, over six hours. When he came back, he didn't talk much, just said everything was fine, and went to make some coffee.

  I don't remember the coffee tasting bad or different, but a few minutes later two Disciples came in without knocking. Somehow, I just sat there. I wasn't even worried. The disciples just told Sam that the Prophet said he should come with them, and Sam almost jumped to his feet. I just sat there. I hadn't yet learned the power of the Prophet's name. "The woman, too," one of them said, and the other took my arm and lifted me out of my chair and walked me out.

  "That's my last memory of my old life. Later that night he took me sexually, in front of Sam. I guess you could call it rape; I certainly didn't consent. But I didn't resist, either. In fact, I cooperated." She shrugged. "I don't think he really even wanted me; it was just an exercise of power. He certainly never used me again." She shuddered. "I was lucky. The prophet or his Disciple
s used some of the younger, prettier girls almost every night. And the 'exhibitions' they were made to put on…" She shook her head and shuddered again.

  Cesar shook his head. "Maybe it's a good thing the Captain never got the habit of providing refreshments at the Council meetings," he said. "I just remember him as a tall, dark, slightly ridiculous looking man in silly robes."

  She snorted. "Without his powder, that's all he was. With it, he was a monster."

  But Dorm 25 was not the main reason that the meeting dragged on for more than seven hours. Counting Helen, there were now thirteen members on the new Governing Council. Several were survivors of the old Dorm Council, but most had been newly elected. Cesar and Vlad had easily won reelection in Dorms 7 and 8, as had Messer Sun in Dorm 11. But Sun had a new deputy in Dorm 12, whom he introduced as Chung Hee Park. Park was a cheerful, smiling man, who, Sun said, constantly bowed to everyone in sight. Park promptly proved him correct as the introductions continued. Arheed, representing Dorm 10, attended by computer, to the irritation of Dorm 9's representative, whose people had been forced to evacuate for the medical quarantine. Luckily, he seemed to blame Arheed instead of Cesar for that action.

  Inconspicuous among the new representatives was a younger AngloEuro man named Doug Ryles, representing Dorm 2. This was notable because Doug Ryles had only been assigned to Dorm 2 since the crash, and in less than 48 hours had won election to the Council. Here, he sat hunched silently in his chair, his sharp eyes studying, probing every detail of his fellow Councilors.

  A Grinning Vlad had nominated Cesar to be Council Chairman, and was instantly seconded by Sun. The vote was nearly unanimous, with Arheed casting the only "no" vote, and Ryles abstaining. Sun's follow-up motion, to authorize the Chairman to make emergency decisions in the Council's name, subject to later confirmation by the Council itself, passed with the same exceptions. Cesar took the time to glare at both Vlad and Sun before assuming his duties.

  Given all that they had on their plate, Cesar was surprised when one of the first items to be discussed was a name for their new home. "Earth 2" and "New Earth" were both quickly rejected. "Earth threw us away," Vlad commented sourly. "Why would we name our sanctuary after them?" Almost a dozen names were considered before "Crashlanding" passed by acclamation. Arheed's angry and impassioned motion to remove the quarantine of Dorm 10 was rejected easily, with Dorm 9's Councilor calling Arheed a 'hysterical fool' for risking everyone's life unnecessarily. Arheed retreated into a surly silence for the rest of the lengthy meeting.

  While Cesar rested in Dorm 25, Vlad had been busy 'minioning', as he called it. He had asked a weary Tara to take a camera outside and try to get images of The Gouge, with emphasis on trying to convey the sheer scale of the depression.

  Tara and Vlad had spent several hours gathering and compiling images to present to the Council before Vlad brusquely ordered Tara inside to eat and rest. Vlad and Sun had edited the images into a coherent presentation, and now they ran it for the Council. Narrating, Vlad continuously stressed the threat to their colony, and by the end of the presentation, Cesar was certain the Council understood the magnitude of the problem.

  After hours of discussion, argument, and bickering, Cesar finally called a halt to the increasingly hostile deliberations.

  "All right," he said. "We have succeeded in isolating two possible course of action that seem practical. Our main problem is that we don't have the expertise to choose between them. We are in desperate need of an expert in heavy construction. I move that we adjourn and search our people for someone qualified to assess our competing plans."

  The weary Council agreed, and the meeting finally broke up. Cesar struggled to extricate himself from the Councilors vying for his attention, each trying to advocate for their position on some point. He had nearly succeeded; a single man standing near the door was obviously waiting his turn. Cesar sighed.

  "Excuse me, sire," the man began diffidently. "I'm Tran Vong, from Dorm 4. I just received a call from a man who was in my dorm, until he was moved into a storeroom because of the crowding. He didn't know whom to call. You see, he's Euro, and transferred to Dorm 4 before the crash. So, he's something of an outsider. He says he's been building roads in South America. Would you like to talk to him?"

  Cesar's eyes widened. "Yes!" he replied excitedly. "Please send him or bring him to the Dorm 7 training room as soon as possible. And thank you, Messer Vong."

  Cesar hurried back to the training room. "Vlad, call Tom Abbott, would you? He's the one best equipped to judge a contractor."

  Vlad snorted. "Tom? Tom's a machinist. What does he know about heavy construction?"

  Cesar smiled. "Tom's a tinkerer. He's a builder by nature, if not by training. I'm hoping he'll be able to recognize another builder." He shrugged. "It's certainly outside our areas of expertise."

  Vlad shrugged. "If you say so. But I'm sure there are people aboard better qualified to judge than Tom."

  "I'm sure there are," Cesar agreed. "But we don't know them, so how can we trust them? I know Tom, and I trust his judgment."

  Vlad grinned. "Okay, boss, you got it." He headed for the door.

  He returned with Tom a few minutes before a quiet knock announced the arrival of Messer Vong. A short, but burly man with black hair and an olive skin accompanied him. His brusque assertiveness was a marked contrast to Vong's self-effacing manner.

  He strode confidently up to Cesar without waiting for an introduction. "You're Filipino, right? You speak English, right?" His accent was a strange mix of NorAm and Anglo. Cesar smiled and nodded. "Yes, and yes," Cesar replied. "And you are?"

  "Vincent Wojewicz. Call me Vince. I hear you got a construction project that needs running."

  Cesar's smile threatened to become a grin. "All right, Vince, I'm Cesar."

  Vince nodded. "Proud to meet you, sir. You been doin' a helluva job. I think I can help. You'll want to know about me, so here goes.

  "I am, or was, a Euro citizen, but I haven't spent any time there in years. I'd just finished a bridge in Venezuela, and decided to come home for a visit. My first in about twenty years. I had just enough time to drink up my ready cash when the sweep came through. They wouldn't listen to me, of course, but I figured I'd get to talk to somebody at the Classification Center. I did, too. I told him I had half a mil in an account in Venezuela, and like a fool, I gave him my account card to verify it.

  "The bastard started yellin' for security, claimin' I was trying to bribe him. A couple of goons with sticks came in, and I woke up on a shuttle. Without my ID or account cards, of course.”

  He shook his head, grinning sourly. "But you don't wanna know about that. I've been a foreman or job boss on road, dam, and bridge contracts for over twenty years, all over the world."

  Tom stepped forward. "Ever done an earthen dam?" He asked.

  "Only one," Van replied. "In Africa. Earthen dams can be tricky. If they don't have a good foundation and lots of stabilizer, they're only good for a few years"

  Cesar threw a glance at Tom, who was smiling and nodding. "Well, Vince," He said, "It seems we may need one. It's one option the Council is considering."

  He went on to explain the problem, using the computer to display Vlad and Tara's footage.

  "We've pretty much narrowed the choices to emptying out the lower decks, and taking the machinery and vehicles up to ground level. Of course, that means building a road, of sorts, and a bunch of equipment sheds before we can even start on housing.”

  Van shook his head. "I don't care for that one. Yeah, you'll get your equipment out, but you'll cause big headaches down the road a bit.”

  He waved at the image of The Gouge that was still displayed on the main monitor. "Whatever you do, that's going to become a lake. A big lake, and a deep one. That means that the ship essentially becomes a stilt house, supported by the lower deck framework.

  “Now, that could work, for a few years. But no matter how you try, you're going to have humidity, mold and all kinds of pest t
roubles." He shook his head. "It'd be like living in a house with a flooded basement. And I don't think it would take long to begin damaging delicate equipment. Like that, for instance." He waved at the monitor.

  "Could we fill in the Gouge?" Vlad asked.

  Van shrugged. "It's been done, Lakes have been filled in before, and in the old Netherlands, they were even reclaiming ocean bottom. But they had work crews larger than our entire population, and an equipment budget equal to billions of credits. And it took years. We don't have years. Forget about filling it in. Was that your other option?"

  Cesar shook his head. "The only other practical option seems to be building a dike or dam in front of the ship."

  Vince nodded. "Yeah. I'd want to check the ground first, examine the site. Working without an Engineer on a project like this, I'd want everything rock solid before I start. But I think that's your best option. Of course, we'll still have to build the road ramp and the equipment sheds." He paused and threw a hard glance at Cesar before continuing, "before we build any housing, or anything else."

  Cesar nodded soberly. "I know. That's going to be a hard sell, once we're cleared to leave the ship."

  "If we're cleared to leave the ship," Vlad corrected quietly.

  Cesar ignored him. "All right, Vince, We'll have to run it through the Council, but as far as I'm concerned, you've got a job. Have you ever worn a space suit?"

  Van nodded. "Yep. Did an orbital job once. So, when do I start?"

  Cesar looked at him quizzically. "What, you're still here?"

  A broad grin and a jaunty half-salute accompanied his reply: "No, sir. What you're looking at is the hole I left in the air!" He turned and strode out, trailed by the rather scandalized Vong.

  "It's going to be hard to get anything done in space suits," Vlad said.

  Cesar shrugged. "I know. I’m afraid we’ll just have to pressure Susan.”