Exiled to the Stars Page 3

  Manny nodded. "I'll do my best." He took the large sheaf of bills and turned away, then turned back to Ron. "You're straight now, but you been there. From the accent, San Lou?"

  Ron shook his head, "South 'Cago."

  Manny whistled. "Yeah, you been there." He glanced at Vlad. "Stick wit' him, Doc, and you might make it through this!" He sauntered away, whistling.

  The bunks were arranged to form groups of twelve, and Ron carefully scrutinized and evaluated the other nine members of their group. Four were women. All of them were obviously frightened, but two of them stayed between the others and the men, glaring challengingly if any man came close. The two assertive ones had gone around trading bunks until the four were grouped together against the wall, in the bottom two bunks on each side of the central aisle. The four huddled together, whispering and throwing apprehensive glares at the men in the group. It would obviously be impossible to learn their identities and capabilities until they calmed down.

  Two of the residents were street toughs, gang teens. They had even torn the sleeves from their issue shipsuits to display the crude tattoos that identified their street gang. They swaggered in together, and never said a word to their bunkmates. After a contemptuous glance at their neighbors, they had stuffed their belongings into their safes, and immediately left the group.

  Then there was a classic street urchin from Nawlins, about fourteen years old. He'd been running a crooked crap game when the police caught him.

  The only other 'straight' was a short, wide man with large, scarred hands and a ready smile. He was a machinist, which nowadays meant a combination computer tech and mechanic. He'd been one of the players in the kid's crap game when the police raided it.

  Von and Vlad were talking with the kid when Vlad was suddenly pushed hard from behind, propelling him face-first into the wall at the end of the short aisle. "Watch it, four eyes," said a gravelly voice.

  A large man stood at the entrance to the aisle. Scarred and muscular, his battered visage literally screamed "street tough." He surveyed the occupants of the aisle.

  "M'name's Jack Tundell," he grated. He looked at the card in his hand, and pointed to the upper bunk at the rear of the group. "I'm supposed to have that bunk," he said, "But I like this'n better." He indicated Ron's bunk.

  Ron shook his head. He hadn't been in a fight since he'd escaped South 'Cago to go to college, and he'd hoped his escape was permanent. But he knew this type. A street thug. Not intelligent, but tough and pain-tolerant. If he gave in now, submitted to the man's demands, he would be dominated by him and whatever gang boss he hired on with for the entire voyage, and maybe longer.

  No, he decided. I might be in for a beating, but there's no way I'm giving in without a fight!

  Suddenly he noticed Tundell's clumsy movements in zero-gee. He retreated slightly, to brace his back against the metal edge of the bunk, and spread his arms, sliding a hand along to grasp the pipe supporting the bunks on each side. He decided he was as firmly anchored as possible.

  "No," he said. "That's my bunk, and I don't want to swap."

  Tundell had liked his retreating movement. The man's lip curled. "You don't look so tough. I think you better change your mind."

  Ron shook his head. "I'm not tough," he replied. "That's why I fight dirty."

  A wide grin flared in the battered face. "Yeah? Me too!" On the final word Tundell launched a huge right-handed haymaker. Had it landed, it would probably have put Ron in the hospital.

  But they were in zero-gee. Ron ducked, and all the wide swing did was send the big man into an uncontrollable spin. As he completed the first revolution, his face encountered both of Ron's feet, launched with all the strength in his well-braced body, and swung in the opposite direction. Tundell went sailing out of the group, his face spewing blood. He flew across the corridor, crashing into the bunk stack on the other side, after which he drifted limply, globules of blood drifting around his head.

  Chapter 2

  17 August 2103 AD

  The violence had come and gone so fast that the street kid was standing with his mouth wide in shock. After a moment, he stared at Ron with a new respect. "Wow!" He said, "That was incredible!"

  Ron smiled weakly. He was relieved that he had escaped a beating, but worried that his encounter with Tundell was only the beginning. He shook his head. "I was lucky," he replied. "If we hadn't been in free fall, or if he had known how to fight in zero-gee, that would be me over there!" He hooked a thumb toward the gently drifting figure of the big man. Flight attendants were already closing in to take the man to the med bay.

  He turned to Vlad as the kid turned away to watch the attendants at work. "I'm afraid this calls for a change in plans," he said. "There are two ways this dustup can turn out. Sometimes, these street toughs will have no hard feelings, just respect for the man that beat them. More likely, though, as soon as he's physically able, he'll gather a couple of his new buddies and come back to beat me up or kill me.

  "As soon as Manny comes back," he continued, "I'm going to have to get out of this dorm. We'll divide up our purchases, and I'll head for one of the Drone dorms. There will almost certainly be thugs there that would like to move here, to hire on with a dorm boss."

  Vlad looked troubled. "I understand, Ron." He hesitated. "If you don't mind," he continued after a moment, "I'd like to accompany you. With Tundell and those two street gang thugs in this bunk group, I foresee only years of bullying and brutality here."

  Ron frowned. "I don't know, Vlad. Don't forget, the Drones are nearly all uneducated, illiterate Asians. There are very great cultural differences, among other things."

  Vlad chuckled. "If by 'other things' you mean racism, I don't expect that to be a problem. I'm black, and I've had Asian shop assistants before. I don't look down on them; in fact they're some of the finest craftsmen I've ever had. And if you mean educational snobbery, I think you'll find I don't suffer from that particular affliction."

  Ron nodded. "All right. As soon as Manny returns, we'll start circulating in the Drone dorms."

  It was quite late by the time Manny got back. He was carrying a small cloth bag.

  "This is half of the stuff," he said. "I stashed the rest. That was the weapons and stuff I din't wanna get caught carrying. You'll have to fetch those yourself."

  Ron nodded. "How did you do?"

  Manny produced Ron's list, now creased and crumpled. "I got everything except the hush field generator and the stun grenades. You've got a blaster and three power packs, and two lasers with two each. I even got you a practice rig for the laser, reduced power and all. I also got you holsters for the blaster and lasers. Then you got two stunners with four spare power packs, four fighting knives and four practice knives. And then the wrist comps, army survival kits and the other stuff. But we're gonna have to talk about my cut. Those weapons were more expensive than I thought. I listed the prices there."

  Ron scrutinized the list. If Manny had listed the actual prices he paid, only about a thousand remained of their credits. But a thousand credits was still a lot of money.

  "All right Manny," he said. "You did very well for us. How does five hundred sound for your cut?"

  "Make it six."

  "Tell you what, Manny," Ron said. "Vlad and I are about to move to another dorm. We'll give you the six, and you forget you ever met us."

  Manny grinned. "Another fifty and I never heard of ya."

  He took Ron to the service conduit where he'd stashed the weapons, and waited while Ron checked them against the list. Most of the weapons were well worn, but he had no doubt they were serviceable. They had most likely been confiscated from previous colonists. Ron was glad Manny had managed to get the practice rig for the laser. He hadn't fired one in years, and he was certain Vlad had never even seen one, let alone handled it. Blasters were much less precise weapons, and more forgiving of inexperienced users. But he anticipated that both of them would be spending many hours practicing with all the weapons.

  They
'd have to move them, of course. They couldn't afford to let Manny know the location of almost ten thousand credits worth of weapons!

  By the time they got back to the dorm, "lights out" had sounded, and the dorm was dark. They would have to wait until the next morning to visit the other dorms.

  The occupied portion of the ship consisted of a 500-meter-diameter globe housing 12 decks.

  The top four decks were "crew country." The Deck 1 contained the Bridge, Captain's quarters and office, and senior officer quarters. Decks 2 and 3 were crew quarters. Deck 4 housed most of the ship's operational spaces, such as labs, offices and workshops. Not coincidentally, it also served as a barrier between the crew and the colonists; direct links with the colonist decks required use of elevators utilizing retinal locks. Even the deck itself was thicker than the rest. EarthGov did not trust its outcasts.

  Decks 5 and 6 were primarily colonist dorms and ancillary nodes for the computer. Bureaucracy becomes its own reason for being; there was no law or regulation that required Undie dorms be on one deck and Drones on the other, but typically deck 5 was the "Undie deck," and deck 6 the "Drone deck." Since the segregation was unofficial, it was also flexible. If there were not enough Undies to fill deck 5, the shortage was made up from among the Drones. In this case, there were several Drone dorms on deck 5, but Ron felt safer seeking refuge on deck 6.

  Directly below colonist quarters in the very center of the ship was an armored, sealed globe extending two decks downward, housing the computer and associated memory on decks 7 and 8. Circuits and mechanical interfaces that permit the computer to control the supply delivery system and the VR training rooms surround this globe. These are themselves surrounded by supply storage facilities, which also extend to deck 9 and part of deck 10. Most of Deck 10 is occupied by the ship's hydroponics installation. The rest of that deck is oversized. It contains the heavy equipment the colony would need, such as bulldozers, cranes, heavy construction equipment, tractors, plows, and farming equipment.

  Decks 11 and 12 are the engineering spaces, including the normal space drive and life support systems. They also include fully equipped workshops and machine shops intended for the colony. The equipment on these decks is designed to be easily salvaged after the ship's arrival on a planet.

  Ron and Vlad were up early and skipped breakfast the next morning, so they could hurry to the cache and recover their weapons before Manny sold someone their location. They placed the weapons in one of the boxes that previously had contained their supplies, and hid the weapons temporarily in a service conduit.

  Then they went "down" to Deck 6, and began visiting the nearby dorms. As they entered each, children with their hands out mobbed them, hoping for coins. And at each, Ron would select one boy or girl and whisper to them. At the first two, Ron was apparently disappointed with the children's reactions.

  At the third, though, the boy he had selected nodded vigorously and grabbed at his hand, pulling him into the dorm. Ron told Vlad to follow, and allowed the boy to pull him to a bunk section near the far end.

  The Drone dorm was a madhouse, crammed with people talking, arguing, gesticulating, laughing, and everything in between. Some simply drifted, looking miserable and clutching airsick bags. The boy eeled through the tight-packed horde with amazing ease. The westerners, less skilled, bumbled slowly along in his wake, trying desperately not to lose sight of the boy. The appearance of the two western men caused considerable interest as they pulled themselves through the dorm. Finally, the boy stopped and turned to Ron, his hand out. Ron put some coins in it, and the boy fled.

  A family group seemed to occupy this bunk section. Four women were trying to look busy while they surreptitiously stared at the strangers. Two children drifted in the corridor, spinning and pin wheeling amid screams of excitement and delight.

  Near the front of the section, an older man sat comfortably in mid-air, sucking something from a tube and grimacing. He appeared to be Filipino or Malaysian. He looked up and his eyebrows rose as he looked at his visitors.

  Ron managed to bow slightly without spinning and said, "Good day to you, sir. I wonder if we could have a few moments of your time."

  A small smile crossed the wizened face as he nodded in recognition of Ron's bow. "It appears that I now have very little but time. So, why are two westerners wandering around down here accosting harmless old men?"

  Ron shook his head. "Not true, sir. I am told you have much wisdom. As for why we are here, we hope to obtain your help."

  The old man laughed aloud. "Ha! Wisdom! If I were wise, would I be here? But enough fencing. I am Cesar Montero, and I am scarcely in a position to help myself, much less others. What makes you think I'm such a wise man?"

  Ron smiled and shrugged. "At each dorm I would ask a child to take me to the 'wise man'. No name, just 'the wise man'. At the first two, the children shook their heads or seemed confused. Here, there was no hesitation, no doubt. The boy led us straight to you."

  Cesar laughed and clapped his hands. "Wonderful! It appears that you are not without a certain wisdom yourself. Please, sit and tell me how I can help you."

  Ron and Vlad jumped slightly and assumed sitting positions in mid-air facing Montero.

  "I'm Ron Creding, and my friend, here, is Doctor Vladimir Renko," he began. "We were shipped as Undies. For political reasons only, I assure you. Unfortunately, I have offended a man who was shipped for much more violent reasons. And he is only one of many in that dorm. We are trying to swap bunks with someone who, ah, 'fits in' better in that environment."

  Montero frowned, but nodded. "So, essentially, you want to swap with two thugs from this dorm."

  Ron nodded. "Exactly. I am a teacher, and Doctor Renko, here is a distinguished roboticist."

  Cesar nodded and bowed slightly to Vlad. "Even I am familiar with the name of Doctor Renko, though I find myself surprised that EarthGov would ship someone of such prominence."

  The large white smile flared in Vlad's dark face. "I admit to a certain surprise myself," he admitted, "But the judge was most emphatic that someone who designs machines to take jobs from men is an enemy of the state."

  Cesar shook his head in disgust. "Good heavens, has it really come to that? Then civilization on Earth is indeed lost." He straightened abruptly, and had to grab a bunk to stop his rotation. "Well, unfortunately, there is no shortage of thugs even here, among the indigent. I am sure we can accommodate you, gentlemen."

  Ron nodded and smiled. "Good. What we want is two bunks, one bottom and one center, in a bunk section without violent criminals. We have EarthGov credits, and can pay, if necessary. We're hoping the violent ones haven't had time to begin clustering together."

  Cesar nodded again. "I understand, and I'm sure we can do this. I certainly will not complain about replacing two thugs with educated men." He looked closely at each of them. "Of course, you realize that a certain amount of acculturation will be necessary."

  Ron nodded. "We do realize it, and we're also hoping to find someone who can help us with that."

  Cesar's smile flared briefly. "I suspect we can also help with that. But let us deal with the first problem first. Come along, gentlemen."

  "Rafael Hernandez is Filipino," Cesar Montero continued as they drifted down the corridor. "He is the 'strong man' in our local underworld. He has always claimed that he 'deserved' a bigger territory than our poor ghetto. I believe he will see this as his chance. His partner Paco is a sociopath and a classic sadist."

  They halted in front of a bunk area with only two occupants. Rafael Hernandez was a wide, muscular, compact man, unshaven, with a ragged scar running down one side of his face. He grimaced when he saw Cesar Montero. "What do you want here, old man? Gonna lecture me some more about 'civic duty'?"

  Cesar shook his head. "No, Rafael. One can beat his head against a wall only so many times. No, these westerners want to talk to you about a business deal."

  Hernandez brightened. "Business, huh?" He turned his attention to Ron. "Whadda
ya want, Whitey? We really ain't had time to get the gamblin' and girls set up, yet."

  Ron suppressed his disgust. "Glad to hear it," he replied. "I want to make you a deal on a bunk swap."

  The thug looked faintly irritated. "Go on," he said.

  "We're from an Undie dorm on the next deck up. We've got a middle bunk and a lower to swap for the same down here."

  "Swap, hell," Hernandez said in an irritated tone. "Upstairs, huh? What's your offer?"

  Ron shrugged. "We've got a few EarthGov credits. What's your price?"

  "A hundred credits, each."

  Ron turned to Vlad. "Let's go, Vlad. This small-timer doesn't want to do business, he just wants to flex his muscles." They turned to leave.

  "Wait!" Hernandez said. "What's your offer?"

  Ron shrugged. "Fifty for the pair, with the swap. And you get to move up and take a swing at the big leagues."

  Hernandez shook his head, and then grinned. "Tell ya what. For a hunnert, you get this whole bunk group, all twelve bunks."

  Ron frowned. "What about the other occupants?"

  Hernandez' grin turned feral. "They, uh, decided to relocate."

  Ron suppressed a grimace. "Okay, it's a deal." To avoid having to shake with Hernandez, he took the man's card from the bunk where it was hanging, and wrote the dorm and bunk numbers for the upstairs bunks on it. "Give us an hour to get moved out, and you can move in." He opened his pouch and pulled out a hundred-credit bill, sighing in evident reluctance as he drew it out and passed it to Hernandez. "There's some tough boys up there," he added. "Get somebody to tell you about Jack Tundell."

  "Yeah? Well, we can handle it, eh, Paco?" He nudged the slim, colorless man with the dead eyes. Paco just nodded.

  "What happened to the others in that group?" Ron asked Cesar Montero as they floated down the corridor.

  The old man shrugged. "Three of them were members of Rafael's gang. He just told them to move, and they kicked other people out of bunks in other groups. Two others are in the med bay. The others saw what happened, and moved out without complaint. They are sleeping in the corridor now. It is not yet a problem, but once we boost out…" He shrugged again.