Exiled to the Stars

by Zellmann, William

  And he was branded, now. A community of 1200 allows few secrets. In less than a day, every colonist would know that Doug Ryles was a thief, blackmailer, and murderer. That he had been kicked off the Council. There would be no more deals, no more 'arrangements', no more quid-pro-quos. No, he told himself sardonically, no criminal penalties. Just life at hard labor with no chance of parole.

  Chapter 15

  Seventhmonth 30, Year 23 A.L.

  Doug was patient. He suffered through the heavy work under the watchful eye of a militiaman for three weeks before he called Vic, Charley and Frankie together after dinner. None of them were very happy, either. The hard work in the hot sun was a far cry from lounging around casually and lording it over the others. People that used to seek them out now refused to even talk to them. Somehow, it wasn't as easy to bully people now; and every time they tried, others would gather and put a stop to it.

  "So, whadda we do now, Messer Ryles?" Vic asked.

  Doug's simmering anger grew. There wasn't a damned thing they could do. The whole colony knew of their disgrace. They were objects of disgust wherever they went. All of Doug's big plans were ruined. He had nothing to look forward to but a life of misery and hard labor, and that damned symbiont would make that life longer. It was all Montero's fault!

  No! They wouldn't get away with ruining his life. He wouldn't let them! His anger flared into rage. He forced himself to calmness.

  "They beat us up pretty good, Vic," he said. "They're startin' to treat us like we don't matter anymore. Well, we matter, and we're gonna show them. We'll show them all!

  "I want you guys to rough up old Montero. Oh, don't hurt him, just rough him up some. Tell him we want light duty, and warn him he'd better back off; quit pickin' on us, unless he wants more of the same."

  Frankie stood up, shaking his head. "No. Sorry, Messer Ryles," he said, "but I'm in enough trouble. I ain't gonna tangle with Messer Montero." He walked away, shaking his head.

  Doug waved a dismissal. "He'll regret that," he said. "But we don't need him anyway. Montero is an old man. Don't hurt him; nothing that shows. Just rough him up, maybe threaten some of his family, you know, the usual. Just let him know it's not smart to mess with us."

  Charley was frowning, but Vic was nodding and grinning, as usual. "Sure, boss," he replied. "We'll just talk to him like we would if he owed you money."

  Charley and Vic waited until darkness fell before making their way to Cesar Montero's small plascrete dome. Using their standard procedure, they didn't bother to knock, they merely kicked the door open. A woman screamed softly, more in startlement than fear.

  Cesar wasn't alone. Vlad was there, along with two women and three children, who ran to the women. "We wanna talk to you, Messer Montero," Vic snarled in his most menacing voice. "We don't like the way you been treatin' Messer Ryles and us…" While he was speaking, he grabbed Cesar, surprised by his thin lightness. He put an arm around the old man's neck to hold him as Charley started for Vlad.

  But Vlad wasn't waiting. He suddenly pulled a hand laser from his tunic. The bright bar of light was shocking in the dimness, but not as shocking as seeing Charley slump to the floor.

  Vic's arm tightened involuntarily. There was a wet 'crack', and suddenly Cesar was a dead weight, his head fallen to an unnatural angle.

  Vic shouted wordlessly and dropped the lifeless body, and then whirled and stumbled from the room, another bright bar of light and a blast of pain from his shoulder hurrying him on his way.

  Vic was stunned. It had all been so fast! Only seconds, and now Charley was dead, and he'd killed Messer Montero, the most important man in the colony! He ran for Doug Ryles's tiny dome.

  Doug frowned as Vic stumbled through the door, puffing with his exertions, but his eyes widened as the big man told him of Charley's and Montero's deaths. A simple bully job and those two fools couldn't carry it out!

  But there was no time for recriminations. "Get out," he told Vic coldly. "I don't want you caught here."

  There was naked fear on Vic's face now. "Get out? But where'll I go? There's only the colony!"

  Doug pushed on the man's wounded shoulder. "Get out! Run away! I don't care where you go. But get away from me! Get out!"

  Vic stumbled from the dome, stunned, confused, and frightened. Doug closely followed him, hurrying in the opposite direction, toward the colony's center.

  Doug was cursing and struggling to come up with a believable story to conceal his involvement. A crowd was already gathering at Montero's dome. He was just in time. Any longer, and they’d start adding things up, and coming up with Doug Ryles! As he got closer, Doug began puffing as though from exertion and excitement.

  "Vic killed Montero!" he shouted as he approached. "He told me! If we hurry, we can catch him!" The crowd parted to reveal Montero's pet black, Renko, standing near the entrance, a laser in his hand. The dark face could have been carved from stone.

  Doug looked around nervously. The crowd was deathly silent. The only sound was the sputtering of the torches a few of them carried. What was wrong? Why weren't they shouting and chasing after Vic? Why were they just standing there?

  A short man with bulging muscles stepped from the crowd. Carlos Tablana, Vic's father. Like the others, his face was stony. "My son is not smart," the man said, "but he had a good heart. You turned him into a bully. And now you've turned him into a murderer. And I'm not going to let you get away with it."

  Doug took a breath to tell the man that wasn't true, that Vic had always been a stupid, muscle-bound bully, when Tablana slammed an amazingly hard fist into Doug's belly. As Doug folded around it, a "crack" reverberated through his skull and searing pain flared in his jaw. Doug fell to the ground, and saw that the crowd had closed on him. A foot swung into his chest, and Doug could feel ribs break. Then there was just a flood of kicking, stomping, screaming agony until merciful darkness finally descended.

  Vic crouched in the darkness. Where could he go? The only people on Crashlanding were in the colony! So, he followed Doug. He'd stared, openmouthed in shock as Doug sold him out without even being asked a question. A sense of doom settled over Vic.

  But he watched as his father stepped forward and said something to Doug, and then, suddenly, hit him, left and right. This was perhaps as amazing as Doug's betrayal; his father had never touched Vic, and had always been bitching about Vic's bullying and fighting.

  Then the crowd closed. There was a jostling and scuffling for a few moments, before the crowd turned from the ragged pile barely recognizable as human remains and Vic's terror really began.

  "Go home," Vlad's voice was unnaturally loud in the stony silence. "There's nothing you can do here. Vic has nowhere to go; we'll get him in the morning. We'll take care of Cesar, but I'd appreciate it if someone would take out the garbage, here." He waved negligently at the bloody, broken body of Doug Ryles. There were a number of grimaces, but Vlad was certain volunteers would be found.

  Panic rose in Vic. Renko was right. As soon as morning came, they would come for him. And they would kill him! He started running, heedless of the direction, stumbling in the darkness. He stopped for only a moment before slipping out the gate of the Castle.

  There was no one left who could tell him what to do. Charley was dead. Messer Ryles was dead. Even Messer Montero was dead. He couldn't ask Frankie; they'd never gotten along. Messer Ryles had often had to intervene to stop arguments or fights between them.

  He tripped, fell, and then levered himself back to his feet and continued his shambling, stumbling run.

  Vic hadn't listened much to the colony classes about the native life on Crashlanding. He didn't work in the fields, and he didn't leave the Castle, so why bother?

  So, even if he'd seen the thorn tree's trigger vine, he wouldn't have known to avoid it. He actually stumbled on it, and straightened just in time to be struck by three of the meter-long thorns. He screamed then, and went on screaming in agony; but it took nearly half an hour for him to bleed to death.
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  ******

  Vlad Renko stared glumly at the tablet, trying yet again to keep his mind on the colony report he was trying to read. It was his third attempt, but still, the sense of the words eluded him, swamped by the grief.

  Over three weeks, now, almost a month, and still he grieved for Cesar Montero. And for the colony. Such a stupid waste! And all because of a cheap grifter named Doug Ryles. Oh, Vic Tablana had actually killed Cesar, but it had been Ryles who'd sent Vic and Charley Worthless. All of them were dead, now. Cesar, Ryles, Vic and he'd killed Charley himself.

  Really, he grieved for the colony. He'd tried to take Cesar's place, to guide the Council, but he wasn't Cesar. He didn't have the touch, the charisma that made people want to do what Cesar wanted done. He'd been convinced it was Cesar's obvious intelligence and concern for the colony's welfare that had made him the undisputed, if unnamed, leader of the colony.

  But he'd been wrong. He was as intelligent as Cesar, and as concerned with the welfare of the colony. But there was something missing, some vital ingredient that made people willingly follow where Cesar led. And he obviously didn't have it. The Council had fractured like a cheap vase. Despite his best efforts, the Council, and therefore the colony, lacked direction. It was just drifting from crisis to crisis in a sea of fruitless argument. Worse, there was a power struggle going on in the Council, with four Councilors jockeying for the Chairmanship and the remains of Cesar's power. And the disorder was beginning to spread to the colony itself.

  It was almost like the aftermath of the plague. Then, it had taken a major effort by a nearly united Council to defeat the apathy and depression that the plague had inspired. He shook his head. That unanimity was missing now, and colony morale was plummeting. And he couldn't STOP it! He slammed a fist on the side table beside his chair.

  He heard the knock on the door, and heard Susan go to greet their visitor. She came into the living room, accompanied by a familiar figure. Vlad smiled wryly. All the figures in the colony were familiar, by now. He was surprised to see this one, though. Kenneth Terhoe had been a Council member for over twenty years, since the plague. Surprisingly, though, Vlad didn't know him well. For his entire term on the Council, Terhoe had been a surly loner.

  Vlad knew that Terhoe had been a disgraced politician of some sort in NorAm, and that he had lost his entire family, wife and two children, in the crash and the plague. Evidently, Terhoe blamed himself, and refused to let go of his grief. He seemed to treasure his misery, to hug it to his chest. Vlad had never understood how the man got elected to the Council in the first place, but he had proven to be an excellent Councilor, though his surly, abrasive manner kept him an outsider. Still, his votes, proposals, and motions had shown a man obviously dedicated to the welfare of the colony. He'd been one of Cesar's most reliable supporters on the Council, though he had rejected any friendly overtures from Cesar or Vlad, as he had those of the other Councilors.

  Tonight, though, something was different in Terhoe's manner. Very different. His stride was confident, his head held high. His expression was serious, but the usual surliness was missing. Vlad wondered what had happened to the man. Now, over 180 cems tall and ramrod straight, Vlad could see the impressive politician Terhoe had been. His mane of white hair was carefully coiffed. His shipsuit was even pressed.

  "Doctor Renko, may I have a few moments of your time?" the man asked in a tone whose warmth was almost a shock.

  Vlad smiled, intrigued by the change. "Of course, Messer Terhoe. How can I be of service?" He ushered the man to a seat.

  Terhoe frowned in concentration, as though undecided how to proceed. Finally, he sighed. "We've known each other a long time, Doctor Renko," he began. "Yet, I fear that though I feel I know you well, you know little of me. That is my fault, and it is a fault I came here to remedy. I know that you were a good friend and supporter of Cesar Montero, and are firmly devoted to the welfare of the colony. That is another reason I am here."

  He smiled, the first full smile Vlad had ever seen from him, and he was amazed by its warmth.

  "Let me begin by introducing myself," Terhoe continued. "Twenty-nine years ago, I was the Mayor of SanFran in NorAm. I did my best for the people of my metroplex, and had been rewarded by reelection three times. Oh, I made enemies, of course. There are many people in such a sizable metroplex that have, or want, power or wealth. During my three terms, I managed to irritate quite a few of them. Unfortunately, among those I angered was a political machine controlled by a criminal syndicate.

  "Apparently, they spent over a year and several million credits planting evidence implicating me in a number of different forms of corruption. They were not satisfied with my removal from office; they arranged for my entire family to be declared 'undesirable' and 'recruited' for the colony program.

  "My wife and daughter were raped in Dorm 19, and my son and myself beaten. My son was killed in the crash, and my wife and daughter died of the plague. I planned to suicide and join them, but someone remembered me standing up to Arheed during some of his sillier moments, and suddenly I was the Council Rep.

  "I actually cried. I didn't want the responsibility; I wanted to die. But those people elected me, and trusted me. I had to do my best for them.

  "You didn't know it, but Cesar and you saved my life. I saw that you were working like dogs to keep the colony going, and I realized that I still had something to contribute. I didn't always agree with you, but my votes were always made with the belief that they were right.

  "I've been wallowing in guilt and grief for over twenty years, Doctor. For all that time, the Council and the colony have kept me going. But when Cesar was killed, I knew that my lifeline would unravel without him. And I was surprised to find that I no longer wanted to die.

  "That night, I dreamed of my wife, not an unusual occurrence for me. But this time it wasn't my usual nightmare of rape or death. This time, she was angry with me. She called me a 'quitter'. She told me that the colony was my family now, and it was time to stop wallowing in self-pity and go to work for my family." Terhoe smiled and shrugged. "I dunno, maybe it was my subconscious giving me a kick in the butt. I've been thinking a lot about that ever since."

  He straightened and looked Vlad in the eye. "I will not watch the Council and the colony destroy themselves. I've watched you try to hold them together, and I've seen you failing. This is going to sound immodest, doctor, but I think, with your help, I can succeed where you have failed. Support me, doctor. Help me as you helped Cesar, and I think together we can get the Council back on track.

  "We have no time for this, Doctor," he continued. "Those natives, or whatever they are, give us a deadline. We have to get ourselves organized before they find us!"

  Vlad was dumbfounded. For over twenty years, Terhoe had been a surly, uncommunicative presence on the Council. Oh, his had been a largely positive presence, and Vlad remembered him as being very helpful in motivating the colonists after the plague. But his contributions had always seemed reluctant, somehow forced from him. This Terhoe seemed a completely different person, dynamic and confident. But, could he trust him?

  After only a moment, he dismissed the question. He had over twenty years of the man's voting history to judge him by, and that voting history was impressive. This man might be able to fill Cesar's shoes. Oh, not with Cesar's style, his self-effacing personality, but with his own, dynamic and perhaps even aggressive. Regardless, he would be devoted to the good of the colony; and without someone like him, Vlad was afraid the colony would fail, and Susan and Elaine would die.

  Vlad rose and and walked to the man. With a brilliant white smile, he proffered his hand. "Messer Terhoe, I would be honored to work with you."

  "Thank you, Doctor."

  Vlad shook his head, still smiling broadly. "Just Vlad, sire. My doctorate is in robotic systems design, and I haven't done any of that in years. So Susan is 'Doctor Renko' now. I'm just old Vlad, that senile old black guy people see tottering around."

  The broad,
warm smile was back, though the white-maned head shook in negation. "Hardly that, Vlad. I'm Ken. And we have a lot of work to do."

  Vlad nodded. "The Council meeting is day after tomorrow. We've got a lot of calling and visiting to do before then."

  In the hallway outside the room, Susan Renko grinned in relief.

  The colony numbered over five thousand, now, but it was still a small community; by the Council meeting, rumors were flying freely. A number of the Councilors seemed nervous as they filed into the meeting room. Ken garnered quite a few long looks and double-takes. The change in him was already obvious, even before Vlad gaveled the meeting to order.

  The gavel had barely fallen when Messer Sun signaled his desire to speak. At Vlad's nod, he jumped to his feet, bowing slightly to his colleagues on either side of him at the table. "I would like to nominate Kenneth Terhoe for Council Chairman and Colony Administrator, and move that the nominations be closed." He dropped back into his seat, grinning widely.

  "Hey!" said one of the Councilors. "The election is scheduled for next week. I…"

  Vlad interrupted him. "There is a motion on the floor. Is there a second?"

  "Second," Helen Montero, now occupying Cesar's seat, shouted. "We don't have time for a lot of politicking. We need leadership now!"

  It wasn't that easy, of course, or that quick. Councilors seeing their own hopes slip away protested. Others raised objections. Discussions went on for over an hour. But the core of Cesar's coalition was behind Ken, and eventually carried the day

  Ken strode confidently to the head of the table. Once there, he stood, surveying the faces around him. Some were hopeful, some impassive, some frowning disapprovingly, some disappointed, some angry.