Exiled to the Stars Page 8

  Customers would "buy in" with a bulb of beer, receiving ten EarthGov credits. With these, they could purchase virtual "cards," activated by Raymond, which appeared on their own tablet. Each "card" cost one credit, and could only be used for the current game. A random-number generator embedded in Raymond's "caller" program selected the letter and number combinations to be "drawn," which then highlighted on the customer's virtual card. The prize for a "Bingo" was, of course, a bulb of beer. Within two weeks, the mess room was always nearly full for "Bingo Night."

  Following one of the successful Bingo nights, Raymond was carrying a double armload of beer bulbs to the small storage room he had found and secured with his locker's lock.

  Suddenly, four of the Dorm 8 thugs appeared from an intersecting corridor. Sensing trouble, Raymond dropped the beer, but he was too late. The leader of the thugs swung a kick at Raymond's crotch that doubled him over with agony.

  The thug grabbed Raymond by the hair. "Ya shoulda give us our share, Bozo!" Pain flared from a flurry of kicks and blows until, mercifully, blackness fell.

  Raymond was taken to the med bay with a fractured arm, three broken ribs, and numerous cuts and scratches. One eye eventually swelled shut.

  After six hours in a regeneration chamber, Raymond's physical wounds were mostly healed, but the med tech had warned him not to get into any fights for a few days, at least until the swelling subsided.

  When he returned to the dorm, he found the entire militia armed, assembled, and building up to an invasion of Dorm 8.

  Raymond shook his head. He had not wasted his time in the med bay. He had been thinking, and thinking hard. "No," he said. "I have some things to do before I tackle those fools. Besides, the med techs told me not to get in any fights for a few days. So go rack your weapons, and relax for awhile. Don't worry, they will regret their actions!"

  After restoring calm among the militia, Raymond stomped off angrily to talk to Cesar Montero.

  "Raymond!" Said Cesar. "Are you all right?"

  Raymond waved dismissively. "I'm fine, Cesar, but we have to talk. It's time you stopped putting off the inevitable."

  Cesar Montero's face went blank. "I don't know what you mean," he said evenly.

  Raymond waved again. "Of course you do. You've been making excuses for months to avoid having to take responsibility for those people next door. You know that those six fools they call 'Elders' haven't had an original thought between them in years. The stupid opinions they had as young men have hardened with their arteries, and now they think it's wisdom. But ever since Ron bought out Rafael and Paco, even they have been constantly hinting about joining the dorms, and they know that would mean having you in charge.

  "You know very well that those street toughs have been running things over there, terrorizing the people, but not governing them.

  "Now those bully boys have made a mistake. The med techs told me no fighting for three days. But in four days, they will learn about their mistake." He shrugged. "But if I get rid of the only group that even resembles leadership, I have a responsibility to make sure there is leadership ready to take over. And that's you."

  Cesar shook his head. "Raymond, I can't just take over another dorm. I won't."

  Raymond slammed a hand on the mess room table they'd been using. "We're not talking about taking over!" he said. "We're talking about allowing them to join us. What more proof do you need, when even their so-called leaders are practically begging?"

  But Cesar looked stubborn. "No," he replied, "Right now all they want is to be rid of that gang, and they're so desperate they'll promise anything to anyone they think can manage that. No," he continued, "I have to know that they really want to join us. I will lead the willing, but I will not rule the unwilling."

  Raymond rolled his eyes in frustration. "And what will it take to convince you?”

  Cesar sighed. "All right, Raymond, I know you want this. I also know they cannot hold a vote as long as that gang is there. I will accept the assurances of the elders that more than half of the residents want to merge. But I will insist that they must have actually talked to the people and gotten votes from them. They can stop polling when the total reaches more than half in favor, but I insist that more than half agree to join us, and that once you have got rid of the gang, the elders announce the results in a public meeting."

  Raymond scowled, but then, suddenly the scowl faded to a bright grin. "Ha!" he said. "You are right as usual, Wise One. This is the time to set conditions. Once they agree to them, you will have the authority to enforce them. That I can work with!"

  They talked for another half hour, devising the conditions under which Dorms 7 and 8 would become one.

  The residents of dorm 8 were not from the same Philippine ghetto as those in dorm 7. In fact, they were from the city of Cebu, on a different island, and had an entirely different language. Instead of Tagalog, the language of most of the island of Luzon, they spoke Cebuano, a variant of Bisayan. Of course they all spoke English, United Earth's official language, though with varying levels of proficiency. Cesar was well aware that many of the Drone dorms had their own languages, and he realized that if, no, when they found a planet and started a colony, the language used was certain to be English. So he was trying to make English the official language of Dorm 7. By speaking only English himself and flying into an apparent rage whenever he heard Tagalog, he was having some success.

  But Raymond expected, and had, no problem. All six of the old men he found huddled in a corner of the mess room were fluent English-speakers. They were nearly always to be found there, hoping to avoid the attention of the gang that taunted and jeered them.

  When Raymond approached, several of them reddened or flinched in guilty resignation. The eldest, Reynaldo Pereira, started to stammer apologies, but Raymond waved him to silence.

  "I have come to talk to you, old ones," Raymond said with a slight bow. He indicated his bruised face. "This I will take care if in my own time and my own way. But we cannot leave anarchy behind so close to our dorm. Forgive me, old ones, but I do not believe your people will follow you now."

  Pereira flushed, but sighed and nodded. "You are correct, Raymond. We have failed them. That is why we had hoped we could join with Dorm 7." He indicated with a wave that Raymond should join them.

  Raymond pointedly took the seat at the head of the table, which all of the six old men had avoided. "I have talked with Cesar Montero," he said. "And that may be possible. But Cesar will lead only those who wish to follow him."

  Pereira brightened. "But, this is wonderful news! We have been hinting at that for weeks!"

  Raymond shook his head solemnly. "Not so fast, and not so easily. Cesar has agreed to the merger, but there are conditions."

  Pereira's brow furrowed. "Conditions?"

  Raymond nodded. "Yes, and I would like all of you to note them down in your tablets. Cesar wants to make certain everything is completely clear to everyone in the dorm.

  "You will have to be able to assure him that everyone in the dorm knows about the merger, and that the majority of the residents approve of it. You must also make them aware of these other conditions:

  "First, the only language used in the blended dorm will be English. No Tagalog, no Cebuano, no Bisayan. With 25 dorms aboard, there are dozens of languages being used. When we establish the colony, though, English will be the only language everyone will understand. Cesar wants to make sure that our people will be able to be full partners in the colony, and one way to do that is to make sure that all of them are fluent in English.

  "Second, you must scour the dorm for those who can serve as teachers in the training room. Cesar believes that our people can only be full partners if they are educated and skilled. We will require a schedule of classes to be prepared within a reasonable time after merging.

  "Third, we will levy a 'tax' of one beer bulb per month on each resident. This will pay the salary of a Deputy Sheriff who will protect and serve the people of the dorm, as I do on ou
r side. This person will have to be one of mine, since none of your people is skilled enough or tough enough.

  "Finally, we will also establish a militia on this side, to join with the one in Dorm 7." He held up a hand to forestall an interruption from Reynaldo Pereira. "Ron Creding will ask the Captain to provide batons for them. But we anticipate that before we find a planet, we will need a militia to defend our people from the criminals and revolutionaries among the Undies.

  "Those are Cesar's conditions for the merger. We don't care how you do it, but you will have to get this information to your people, and get their votes. I realize that you can't simply call a meeting as long as that gang is there, but you are wise men. I'm sure you will find a way to do it before Tuesday."

  Perreira jumped to his feet, his face angry. "Tuesday! Impossible! You expect us to talk to nearly two hundred people in three days? Besides," he continued with a thunderous scowl, "I'm not certain our people will agree. I'm not sure I agree to all that! English? Foolishness! Some of our people haven't even heard English in years!"

  Raymond shrugged. "They'll be hearing it now. Our own people are no happier than yours about having to take English classes again. But they understand the need if our people are to be full partners in this colony and not just peasants and beasts of burden. Cesar insists that our people must not be at the mercy of translation devices that will inevitably fail. Besides, I understand that total immersion is an excellent way to learn a language.

  "As for the time constraint, I'm sorry, but I will be dealing with your gang as soon as the med techs permit, and that's Tuesday. There are six of you, and about a hundred and eighty residents, not counting you or the gang. That's about thirty apiece, and three days to do it. But you must be able to give Cesar his assurances Tuesday. Any delay and the survivors of the gang might come back with friends."

  Pereira was still scowling. "And what if we tell Cesar Montero no deal? What if we hire our own 'sheriff,' and form our own militia?'

  Raymond shrugged again. "That's your choice, of course. But I'd advise you to have some bully boys all set to defend you if those thugs come back for revenge."

  They argued for another half hour before Raymond could make his escape.

  "They'll go for it," he told Cesar. "The English requirement will be the hardest to sell, But those people have been terrorized for months. They'll accept it."

  Cesar smiled. "I'm certain they will. But if we hadn't insisted on it as a condition of the merger, it would take months to talk them into it – if we could do it at all."

  On Monday, the dorm 8 elders reported to Cesar Montero that the merger had been overwhelmingly approved. As Raymond had predicted, the English requirement had been the most cited objection, but since the alternative was failure of the merger, few let their objections transfer into votes.

  On Tuesday morning, Raymond selected three of his best unarmed fighters to accompany him to Dorm 8. "No batons," he said. "When we run these creeps off, they're going to go searching for a gang to join, or perhaps to round up a gang of their own to take the dorm back. I'd like the batons to be our 'secret weapon.'"

  Boyet Mamerto, Raymond's pick for "sheriff" of Dorm 8, pointed out that the Dorm 8 thugs already knew about the batons.

  Raymond nodded. "Yes, but all they know is that we have 'clubs'. I'm told they've been scrounging around for pieces of pipe for themselves. If we don't use the batons, I don't think they will attach much importance to them.

  "Now," he continued, "We're not out to kill anyone, but I'd rather have one of them dead than one of us. Pull your punches if you can, but don't risk yourself to do it. Everyone got it?"

  The gang was, as usual, crowded into the bunk section they occupied. There were eight of them, street punks. Their leader was a large man, starting to go to fat. He was the first to see the approaching Raymond.

  "Hey!" he said in a friendly tone, "Koh! No hard feelings, eh? Come sit down and let's talk about our share of the beer." Raymond shook his head silently, and the man seemed to notice Raymond's men for the first time.

  He chuckled. "Well, maybe there are some hard feelings, after all." He signaled his men, who started edging out of the bunk section warily. "That's too bad," the man continued, smiling. "It'd be better if we did this friendly, but if we have to kick your asses first…" The man launched a flat-footed kick, but Raymond was ready for it. He dodged, and when the man's leg was fully extended, he grabbed the foot and twisted it violently, dislocating the knee and twisting the man's face into a bunk stanchion. He shoved, and the man fell to the deck, howling in agony. A quick kick to the head cut off the noise.

  Raymond whirled as a tall, thin man swung a fist at his kidney. Raymond blocked it and grabbed the man's arm and twisted, forcing his head down as Raymond spun him headfirst into a bunk frame. Raymond turned back, but none of the gang were still standing. One of his men was nursing a broken arm, and a cut on Boyet's face was bleeding, but no one appeared seriously hurt.

  Raymond walked over to the gang's leader, and slapped his face until he regained consciousness, grunting with pain. "Now, listen, creep," Raymond growled. "You and these other animals don't live here anymore. Dorm 7 and Dorm 8 are merging into one. If you ever show your ugly mug in either of them again, it'll be the last thing you ever do. Got it?"

  Tears of pain were running down the man's unshaven cheeks. When he didn't answer immediately, Raymond put a foot on the dislocated knee and applied pressure, The man cried out, and then replied. "Yes! Yes! I got it!"

  Raymond and his men carried each of the thugs to the dorm's hatch, dumping them unceremoniously in the corridor. Raymond told his men to get the men's locker keys, then escorted Boyet and the man with the broken arm to the med bay and waited for them.

  By the time they returned, Cesar had convened a meeting of the residents of Dorm 8. He explained the new regime to them, and launched into his speech about their responsibility to become educated and full partners in the new colony, instead of peasants and laborers. His audience seemed fairly receptive, but there were few smiles and many grimaces

  Cesar introduced Raymond, who had two of his best baton men run through some drills, and then announced the formation of a militia in Dorm 8, and an invitation to join it. He then introduced Boyet, the new "Sheriff." Fortunately, Boyet was fluent in Bisayan, which made sure all understood his comments, and incidentally helped guarantee his welcome in his new dorm.

  Finally, Cesar played his last little bit of stagecraft. He asked if anyone had anything else to discuss and, as prearranged, Reynaldo Pereira stood up.

  "Yes," he said dramatically, "There is one more thing we must do. 'Dorm 7' and 'Dorm 8' are EarthGov names, and they divide us. If we are to become one, we must find a way to share an identity."

  Cesar looked thoughtful. "Hmm. Yes, I see your point. We can no longer be the residents of numbered dorms. We must find an identity that unites us, instead of dividing us. Do you have a suggestion?"

  Reynaldo nodded. "We Elders have talked it over. We have nearly 400 people, and we feel that what we are forming here is a village, much like those in the Provinces back home. We should name ourselves a village!"

  Cesar smiled. "An excellent suggestion! I suppose you have considered a name for this village?"

  Reynaldo beamed. He was thoroughly enjoying performing in this stage show. "We had rather thought 'New Cebu' would be appropriate."

  Cesar Montero's smile turned rueful. "Since we come from a completely different island, I doubt your neighbors would approve that name. Besides, I'm not certain that a name from the Philippines is appropriate. That, after all, is our old world, one to which we will never return. Perhaps we should find a name that will indicate our hopes for a new world. Let us think about it, and give our people a chance to suggest names."

  As expected, his suggestion was adopted almost unanimously. The meeting dissolved with the Dorm 8 residents excitedly discussing the new arrangements. A large group of the younger men gathered around the table whe
re Raymond and Boyet were taking the names of volunteers for the militia.

  The discussions, arguments, and yes, even fights, were still going on two weeks later, when the entire ship was startled by the ship's loudspeaker system.

  "This is the Captain speaking," blared from speakers in every compartment for the first time since the launch. "There will be a meeting of all the dorms tomorrow at 900. Each dorm is to send one delegate with the authority to speak for that dorm. Crewmembers will be sent to escort the delegates to the meeting. If no delegate has been selected in a dorm, the escort will select a resident at random. Every dorm will be represented. That is an order." The speakers went abruptly silent.

  The responding hubbub had barely begun when Reynaldo Pereira was at Cesar's bunk, demanding to know who would represent Dorm 8.

  Cesar shrugged. "I haven't had a chance to think about it yet," he replied. "I will represent Dorm 7, of course, and I will select the delegate from Dorm 8, since we are now one and I was elected Kapitan. If you are selected, I will let you know."

  Reynaldo protested loudly, but finally allowed himself to be led away, fuming.

  Cesar called upon Ron Creding. "You're the only one who has actually met the Captain," he explained, "and he apparently approves of you."

  Ron frowned. "But I live in Dorm 7," he said. "Selecting me could lead to a lot of resentment in Dorm 8."

  Cesar shrugged, a faint smile widening his lips. "Ah, but we are all one, now. There will be no 'Dorm 7' or 'Dorm 8.'" The smile faded. "It doesn't matter. I feel it important that you be the other delegate."

  Promptly at 0845 the next morning, crewmen clad in the red of Security appeared at the entrances to both dorms. There was only one of them per dorm, and they barely spoke, but the stunners on their hips announced their authority.

  The escorts led them silently through corridors, some of which had to be unlocked, and up lifts, which required retinal scans.

  Finally they were escorted down a final corridor and into a large conference room, with twenty-six padded chairs surrounding a large oval table with one flat end. The chair at the flat end, obviously for the Captain, was larger and more comfortable than the others.