“We will,” Percy said. He’d thought the apathetic settlers had given up, but this was worse. Far worse. Seven young men had taken their lives, rather than face the future. “Back to the shuttle, I think.”
Outside, darkness had fallen over the abandoned settlement like a shroud. Percy couldn't help a shiver as they walked back to the shuttle, looking up at the night sky. It glowed with life, twinkling stars looking down on the hapless human race. There was no such sight on Earth, he knew, not when humanity had built so many cities of light. But here ... there was something about the stars that cheered and chilled him at the same time.
He pushed the thought aside as they boarded the shuttle, then started the flight back to Warspite. There would be a chance to rest, then return to work the following morning. And perhaps they could make a difference, after all. They had managed to help some settlers, after all, even if it had been on a small scale. There was hope for the planet’s future.
But it didn't seem that way, he knew. And others would definitely feel the same way.
Chapter Nineteen
Just stay still, Hamish McDougal thought, as the Dog-Thing came into view. Just stay still and let it come to you.
He braced himself as the Dog-Thing came closer, took careful aim and pulled the trigger. The Dog-Thing jerked, then fell to the ground. Hamish stepped forward, keeping his rifle pointed at the creature’s head, just to make sure it actually was dead. He’d been surprised before, after encountering Cromwell’s wildlife for the first time. The Dog-Things might look like dogs, hence the name, but their internal structure was very different. But, as he poked the body gingerly, it became clear it was definitely dead.
Good, he thought, as he hefted the Dog-Thing off the ground and slung it over his shoulder, then turned to walk back to the city. There’s good eating on these things.
He hadn't intended to become a hunter, when he’d moved to Cromwell. He'd managed to get himself a nice little farm, along the riverbank, with a promise from the CDC of more land later, if he turned his first farm into a viable enterprise. And he’d worked and worked and worked, waiting all the time for his wife, until the river had broken its banks. Five years of work had been destroyed overnight, pushing him all the way back to square one. It galled him to know he’d wasted his time, but the thought of being in debt was much worse. The CDC was unlikely to give a damn about how he’d failed, only that he had.
And Gillian will be lucky if she gets her farmhouse after all, he thought. Once, the settlers had worked together to raise farmhouses, barns and shelters for their farms. Now, the colony’s society had been badly undermined. If she ever arrives, that is.
The thought nagged at his mind as he walked back to the city. He’d left Cromwell City as soon as he could, when he first arrived; he’d only returned rarely, desperate for news from Earth. Now, the handful of wooden and metal buildings were surrounded by makeshift refugee camps, where hundreds of young men waited for the Governor to do something - anything - to give them a future once again. Hamish found it hard to blame them, even though the part of him that refused to give up hated their attitude. They’d been kicked so hard they wanted to be sure there were no further kicks before they returned to work.
But that’s the one thing the Governor can't promise them, Hamish recalled bitterly, as he strode towards the cooking tent. The CDC has yet to rule on where our debts stand.
He cursed under his breath as he pushed the flap aside, then stepped into the tent. The cook - an older man who’d lost his farm in the floods too - took the Dog-Thing, then started to cut it apart for meat with practiced ease. Hamish had a feeling the cook wouldn't go back to his farm, even if all debts were cancelled. He'd lost too much to consider returning to the backbreaking labour that defined farming.
Poor bastard, he thought. And poor all of us.
“Not bad meat,” the cook assured him. “You’ll be eating the stew tonight?”
“Of course,” Hamish said. It was lucky the countryside around Cromwell City teemed with game, or the refugees would have had nothing to eat. “Did you get your hands on any spices?”
“Only a handful of promising-looking seeds,” the cook said. “But the doctors refused to clear them, so they may have to wait.”
Hamish nodded, disappointed. He couldn’t blame the doctors, though. Only a tiny percentage of the planet’s native life had been checked and verified as safe for human consumption - and even some of the items regarded as safe could cause problems, if one ate too much of them. He still recalled a night of stomach cramps with horror, after eating something he hadn't prepared properly. He’d never been able to eat those fruits again.
“Brian was looking for you,” the cook added. “Go see him, if you can.”
“I’ll go now,” Hamish said. “Have fun with your Dog-Thing.”
The cook gave him a one-fingered gesture, then returned to his work. Hamish grinned and walked out of the tent, passing the handful of cooking fires being laid for the evening dinner by the cook’s assistants. Firewood wasn’t a problem either, although it did have to be dried before it could be burned in the fire. He couldn't help wondering what would happen once they depleted the nearby countryside, but he doubted it would be a major problem. It would take years to cut down all the trees within easy walking distance.
Brian was standing outside a tent, addressing a small group of younger settlers. Hamish rather liked the younger man, although he had a feeling that Brian was more capable of acting impulsively than anyone would care to admit. On one hand, Brian had the determination to make something of himself that so many others lacked; on the other, Brian was reluctant to ever admit that anything could be his fault. And his wife, too, was missing. She should have been at the colony a bare three months after the first wave landed.
And God alone knows what’s happened to Gillian, Hamish thought, as he nodded to Brian. She was ready to follow us ... and then nothing.
There had been a war, he’d been told. Some of the colonists believed it, but others found the whole story impossible to believe. Aliens? Yeah, right; there was no such thing as aliens. A hundred and fifty years spent exploring the tramlines had turned up nothing larger than a cow, certainly nothing intelligent. Humanity was the one and only intelligent race in the universe, they insisted, with clear title to every star and planet it discovered. There were no such things as aliens. It was an excuse, a pathetic excuse, to hide the fact that the CDC had dropped the ball.
But Hamish wasn't so sure. He'd been born the youngest of seven children and he’d seen, all too often, just how easy it was to try to use an unbelievable lie. But they were simply never convincing; dogs didn't eat homework, not in real life. It was far easier to be believed if one kept the lie simple ... and the corporate executives of the CDC would know that, wouldn't they? Why come up with a big lie concerning aliens when it would be far simpler to come up with a smaller one? There could have been a crisis that diverted shipping to somewhere else in the human sphere ...
“You’ve all heard what Gamble said,” Brian said, lacing the name with as much contempt as possible. “We will not have any of our debts settled; instead, we will be forced back to work as corporate slaves.”
Hamish winced. Deputy Governor Murray Gamble was easily the most hated man in the colony, the CDC’s representative charged with looking after the consortium’s interests. It was something of a mystery why he’d got the job in the first place; there were days when Hamish wondered if he’d managed to offend someone higher up the corporate ranks, who’d sent him into permanent exile. But stopping all shipping to Cromwell seemed a bit excessive to get rid of a single man, no matter how annoying.
The crowd muttered their anger as Brian continued. “They’ve already told us a bunch of lies,” he said, “and now they’ve brought the Royal Marines to force us back in line. I don't know about you, but I am not going to stand for it! None of us can be blamed for the flood, can we? How was it our fault?”
He was right, Hamish kne
w. The first anyone had known about the problem was when the river had started rising rapidly, breaking its banks and flooding the farms. It was, in the purest possible sense, an Act of God. But the CDC wouldn't see it that way. Every problem had to have someone to take the blame, particularly when large sums of money were at stake, and while Cromwell’s settlers were poor, the CDC itself was rich. It would be a great deal easier to insist the settlers continue to pay their debts, rather than accept the loss of the money.
Bastards, he thought. And Gamble sure as hell won’t hesitate to make us pay, now he thinks he has armed support.
“He’s planning to use the Marines to ship us back to the farms,” Brian continued, “even though the farms are drenched and useless. Once we are there, we will be separate and weak, unable to resist demands for payment. And they will even withhold our wives until we submit to them!”
Hamish sighed, inwardly. Brian had married just before the colony ship departed, to a woman too young to settle down. Hamish had taken her measure and knew the relationship wouldn't last, not on Earth. Five years ... it was quite possible that Brian’s wife had decided to abandon the colony mission, even if the stories of alien attack were untrue. She might not be on the ship when it arrived at Cromwell ...
The thought caused him a bitter pang. His wife might not be on the ship, when it arrived.
But Brian had put his finger on a very sore spot. The colonists had been chosen, at least in part, because they were married. They had been told that married men and women would give the colony’s early years a degree of stability, particularly as there would be fewer risks of men and women straying from their partners on Cromwell. Some of the colonists had even married quickly, just to ensure they were selected to go. But they had been separated from their wives, unable even to receive letters, for five years. Even the strongest marriage would have problems surviving such a long separation.
“We have weapons,” Brian said. “Together, we outnumber the marshals ten to one. We can go to the Governor and demand a clear statement, right here right now. He has the authority to force the CDC to see reason, if necessary. We just have to give him a reason to use it!”
“At gunpoint?” Hamish asked. “Would that be legal?”
Brian snorted. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life a legal slave?”
Hamish shuddered. Brian was right. The original debts should have been easy to pay off - and would have been, if the river hadn’t broken its banks. Now, if the contracts remained in force, it was unlikely any of them would be able to earn enough to either repay the loan or escape crippling penalty charges. By the time Gillian arrived - if she ever did arrive - he might never be able to get out of hock. And why bother struggling to build a life when he could leave nothing to his children?
“Then we go now,” Brian snapped. He pulled his rifle from his back and held it up. “Who’s with me?”
Hamish hesitated, then followed Brian and a line of armed colonists through the streets, heading directly for the Governor’s office. The handful of people on the streets stared at them, then called out questions. When Brian explained what they were doing, the people either joined the growing crowd or retreated rapidly into their homes. Hamish couldn't help thinking of a riot he’d seen on a university campus once, years ago. There was an air of unmistakable violence in the air.
Two marshals stood outside Government House, eying the crowd with some alarm. Both of them had genuine military experience, Hamish knew, but they were also decent men - and they too had debts to pay off. Who knew which way they would jump?
“We’re here to see the Governor,” Brian said. “Please let us in.”
The marshals exchanged glances. They carried weapons, both stunners and rifles, but they were heavily outnumbered and outgunned by the crowd. Hamish hoped - prayed - that they would do the smart thing and step aside. It was the only way to prevent bloodshed ...
“The Governor isn't seeing anyone at the moment,” one of the marshals said. He lifted an arm to block Brian’s path. “He’s trying to organise support ...”
Brian punched him, hard. The marshal staggered backwards, then hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. His partner grabbed his weapon, but failed to draw it before the crowd roared in anger and lunged forward. He was rapidly overpowered, disarmed and left bleeding on the ground, as the crowd surged into Government House. The interior was darker than Hamish had expected - clearly, the Governor had sent his backup power generators where they were needed - but the crowd still had no difficulty in finding the Governor’s staff. Three young women and two young men, all appointed by the CDC, were hauled out of their offices and dragged along by the crowd.
“Rape the bitches now,” someone called, hidden within the crowd. “They deserve it.”
“No,” Hamish snapped. It was bad enough that two people had already been hurt. He was damned if he was going to allow five innocent people to be raped, then murdered. “We have to live with ourselves afterwards.”
He glared a couple of protesters into silence, then followed Brian into the Governor’s office, where Governor Baxter was seated in front of his desk. To Hamish’s mixed disappointment and relief, there was no sign of the Deputy Governor. The bastard had probably heard the crowd coming and wisely scarpered, he decided, tartly. If he had fallen into the crowd’s hands, it was unlikely he would have been allowed to survive.
And that would definitely have poisoned our relationship with the CDC, he thought. They can't accept having their people murdered.
“Well,” the Governor said, into the silence. “What can I do for you?”
Brian’s face purpled. “We want you to cancel all of our debts, produce our wives and send Gamble back to Earth,” he said. “And get the Royal Marines off our planet.”
There was a long pause.
“I can't do any of those,” the Governor said. “They would all have to be cleared through the Colonial Office and the CDC.”
“You have the authority,” Brian snapped. “We didn’t make the river flood and we’re damned if we’re paying for it!”
“That will be considered,” the Governor said. “However, I do not have the authority to cancel all your debts unilaterally ...”
“Yes, you do,” Brian insisted. He slammed his fist down on the table, making a handful of people jump. “We are not going to lose our freedom because of your tight-fisted masters.”
“We need hope,” Hamish said, before Brian could shoot the Governor or do something else that would burn their bridges behind them. “Your Excellency, the situation we face, right now, is not of our making. We need you to make sure we are not asked to pay for having suffered a disaster.”
“The agreement was that you would produce functioning farms,” the Governor said, coolly. “If they are delayed ...”
“The contract specifically states that there are penalty clauses for failing to produce a functioning farm on time,” Brian snapped. “We cannot repair the destroyed farmland, nor can we afford to replace the equipment we lost in the floods. None of us have a hope of meeting the contract’s deadline, Governor.”
“There's no hope right now,” Hamish put in.
“And your fucking deputy is threatening us with the Marines,” Brian added. “We’re British citizens, not some tribe of wankers in Arabia who have taken hostages and are threatening to kill them ...”
“You have taken hostages,” the Governor pointed out. He held up a hand before Brian could say a word. “I understand that you have problems and yes, I understand that none of them were your fault. And yes, I will try to make sure you are not held to account for them. But - and this is a big issue - I cannot be seen to be bowing to force. Leave now and I will do my best to ensure that the contracts are either scrapped or extended to cover the disaster.”
“That isn’t good enough,” Brian hissed. “Do you really think we would accept your word?”
The Governor met his eyes. “I have nothing else to offer,” he said. “My authority is very
weak planetside and non-existent outside the atmosphere. What do you want from me?”
“I told you,” Brian shouted. His voice was breaking with frustrated rage. “We want the contracts torn up! We want our wives back! We want our freedom!”
The crowd roared its approval. Hamish watched one of the office girls start to cry and winced inwardly, cursing himself and the crowd under his breath. She was barely out of her teens, on her first posting; she was young enough to be his damned daughter. And now she was scared out of her wits by the crowd - and the threat to rape her. It wouldn't happen, he tried to reassure her with his eyes, but it didn't seem to work. How could it?
“And I can’t give you those,” the Governor said. “I don’t know what happened to the freighter with your wives ... the Royal Navy is going to search for them ...”
“Then consider yourself removed from office,” Brian snapped. He pointed his gun at the Governor’s face. “We’re taking over!”
[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite Page 20