Exiled to the Stars (15 page)

It seemed they were expected. Sheik Al Faweh was waiting a short distance inside the dorm, with four burly men in shipsuits. He demanded to know their business.

The Sergeant replied politely that the Captain would like to talk to him, and that they were to escort him to the Captain's office.

Suddenly the sheik began shouting, "Help! Help! They're kidnapping me! They're going to
kill
me!", and the other four men jumped the redsuits.

Kurt's stunner had barely cleared his holster when one of the big men knocked it from his hand. He backed up and assumed a defensive posture, only to be hit from behind. He staggered, but regained his feet. Two of the others were already down, and the Sergeant was being held by one man while another slammed blow after blow into his face and body.

But people were flocking in from every side, men, women, and even children. A child no more than ten years old eeled between two adults and slammed a fist into Kurt's groin. He sagged with agony, and suddenly blows and kicks were coming from every side. He fell to the ground, and assumed a fetal position, but it was hopeless. A seemingly endless flurry of agonizing kicks faded with his consciousness as a wave of blackness descended.

Chapter 6

06 February 2105

John Gallegos called the Captain, described the emergency, and had him watch the surveillance footage of the deaths of the redsuits. There had been no warning, and the attack was anything but orderly. The redsuits had been simply overrun by an avalanche of people and beaten to death. They had stunned dozens, but these people didn't seem to fear stunning; in fact, they seemed to welcome it.

When the redsuits returned to Dorm 25 some hours later, they carried more than just stunners. Infuriated by the footage, the Captain had unlocked the weapons locker and issued blasters, needlers and flechetters. The latter were modified semi-automatic, sawed-off ten gauge shotguns. Each round of ammunition fired fifteen flechettes, winged, hardened needles that cut gaping holes in flesh at close range.

Dorm 25 was ready for them when they returned. The airtight hatch had been jammed open so the Captain couldn't simply lock them in and pump out the air. Barricades had been erected in the passageway from anything loose, including bunks that had somehow been pried from the walls and floor, and even the food processing machinery. The rebels had the first team's stunners, which they used to great effect, and several lasers and blasters, likely from the same black market suppliers that had provided Ron Creding's weapons.

But mostly they had people. Angry, fanatical people, willing to die for their leader. And die they did. The battle lasted for more than an hour. Twenty redsuits were killed, their weapons taken and used against the remaining troops. There were no surviving wounded redsuits. They had been stomped to death.

It was a near thing, but the redsuits prevailed. Then it was time to count the bodies and clean up the mess. Over 100 colonists were dead, and another 40 wounded. Men, women, and even children had flung themselves at the redsuits. Only 35 residents, all children, were unhurt. Sheik Al Faweh was found among the dead, a laser still in his hand.

Many of the wounded tried to attack the med techs treating them, and had to be sedated so they could be treated. It was several days later that the Captain could report to the Council.

"We know, now, what was going on," he began. "It would have been helpful if EarthGov had provided more information. If they had, we might have avoided this bloodbath." He sighed. "But we would have still had the problem. EarthGov told us they were a 'doomsday cult', which, if you think about it, is a virtually meaningless phrase. We were told that they were 'isolated' in Dorm 25. But nobody saw fit to mention that they were suicidal fanatics.

"Essentially, they are convinced that mankind is inherently sinful and evil, and 'infests' the Earth. They saw it as their mission to destroy mankind, and return the Earth to the 'pristine purity' it had enjoyed before man developed. EarthGov's solution was to ship them off Earth.

"What EarthGov failed to consider was that to these people, the colonization project is simply a way to spread the 'plague' of mankind to other planets. They decided it was their obvious duty to make certain this ship never grounded. They were sending out scouting parties to learn the layout of the ship. They planned to invade Engineering, and explode the Combs drive, which wouldn't be hard; it's a barely controlled antimatter bomb now. If that didn't destroy the ship, they'd try to explode the fusion reactor." He chuckled sourly. "Obviously they're not scientists, or they'd know that there's a large difference between a fusion reactor and a fission reactor.

"There are seventy-six survivors, all women and children. That, by the way, is not through the efforts of the group. It's simply that the redsuits were more reluctant to shoot at women and children. It cost three of them their lives. The cultists seemed to make no distinction at all." He shook his head. "I guess you could say they were equal opportunity terrorists."

"So what now, Captain?" Cesar asked. "What do we do with the survivors? We cannot trust them not to try again. Can you lock them away?"

"Yes, sir," the Captain replied. "Unfortunately I don't think it's that simple. Over half of those survivors are
children
. Should we lock them up or punish them for something for which their parents were responsible?" He shrugged. "That is one of the reasons I am reporting this to you. You, as a Council, need to consider. Can these children be saved? Retrained or reprogrammed, as it were? Remember, our colony will have only the people aboard. We will need every person we can get to build a world, and the young are particularly valuable.

"Please consider it. Forty-one of the seventy-six survivors are children between the ages of birth and seventeen. I wish to know if you would like to consider some sort of supervised adoption for at least the younger ones." He shrugged. "As far as the adults are concerned, I plan to simply replace the food machines in their mess room, and then weld the airtight hatch to the dorm closed. Call it a jail. They will have everything they need, but will be confined to their dorm. Once we ground, you councilors must decide their fates."

There was much discussion, of course, and the meeting dragged on far into the "night." It was finally decided that the children twelve and under should be made available for adoption. Children over twelve would be considered on a case-by-case basis, after interviews with the ship's Counselor. The Counselor was a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, but he was confident he could make valid decisions after an in-depth interviewing and test session.

As the meeting finally broke up, the Captain asked Cesar and Vlad to remain behind.

"Gentlemen," he began, "I have another problem, but this one involves ship security, so it is a decision I alone must make. Our ship's security complement consisted of thirty trained security men." He sighed. "We lost twenty of that thirty in the assault on Dorm 25, including my Security Officer. I am concerned that my remaining force is insufficient to maintain security.

"If you are willing," he continued, "I would like your militia to volunteer to serve as our security force for the remainder of the voyage."

He held up a hand as Cesar started to speak. "Please, sir. I know the council has been having seemingly endless discussions about the militias and security. But as I said, this is a matter of ship's security, and as long as we are in space, the decision is mine alone."

Cesar smiled. "I'm tempted to say 'Of course' immediately, Captain. However, I'm afraid I'm no expert on the capabilities of or requirements on our militia. If I may, I would like to suggest that you talk with Raymond Koh and perhaps even Ron Creding. Should they agree, I would be delighted to oblige."

Two redsuits were sent to bring Raymond and Ron to the conference room.

"Finally!" Captain Angelo exclaimed, "The redoubtable Messer Koh! It is a true pleasure, sir."

Raymond flushed as he shook hands with the Captain. "The pleasure is mine, Captain. How may I be of service to you?"

Captain Angelo explained his request. Raymond frowned, thinking hard.

"Before I can answer, Captain," he said slowly, "there's something I must tell you. When you attacked 25, I gather you were surprised to find lasers and blasters."

The Captain nodded, his expression slightly puzzled. "Yes, actually I was. We didn't expect anything but our peoples' stunners and s few improvised weapons – pipes and such. We were told that colonists weren't permitted weapons."

Raymond shrugged. "They aren't. But there's something you must understand that you weren't told in training.

"Governments come to expect that most people will obey laws, no matter how silly they may be. So, except for some hit or miss enforcement, they assume people will comply with the law.

"And they're usually right. Most people want to stay out of trouble, and it's easier just to go along. But that government complacency can become blindness in some circumstances. Take the colonization program. You grab four thousand urban poor from a ghetto, and you tell them they are going to be locked up for five years with a thousand assorted criminals. That means that one fifth of the colonists are thugs, gangsters, and other assorted trash. Further, you tell them that they will be beyond the protection of EarthGov, and that they will not be coming back to Earth."

Raymond shrugged again. "Ghetto dwellers are very familiar with criminals, and the effects of lawlessness. We've lived with them for years. Nearly all of us have families, and will do anything necessary to protect them. Naturally, our first thoughts turn to weapons.

"Now, EarthGov marshals search all the baggage coming onto the stations, and confiscate any weapons. But when you have thousands of weapons in storage, and thousands of people willing to pay good money for weapons, people who won't be coming back, a good-sized black market inevitably arises. So, the guards and the flight attendants make
very
good money selling the confiscated weapons to other colonists on later ships."

Captain Angelo frowned. "Are you trying to tell me that your militia has lethal weapons?"

Raymond nodded. "I'm trying to tell you that there are probably hundreds of lethal weapons aboard. I heard in the Classification Center that I should save my EarthGov credits to buy weapons once we boarded.

"Luckily, most of the people with weapons are inexperienced. They think a weapon is a magic wand – you wave it around and people do what you tell them. You and I know better. Unfortunately, many of the criminals know better, too."

He sat forward. He was coming to his point. "Now, we love those batons you gave us. They're good, versatile weapons. But they have one shortcoming: they're strictly hand-to-hand. Since we knew many of the criminals would be armed with distance weapons, like lasers, blasters, needlers and such, I felt it necessary that our militia include snipers."

The Captain jerked. "
Snipers
? On a
ship
? Are you insane?"

Raymond held up a hand to restrain the Captain. "Please, Captain! I don't mean snipers in the military sense. It
would
be stupid and irresponsible to try to use long-range weapons aboard a ship. No, we
call
them snipers because that was the most descriptive term I could think of. We have two people who have been training with hand lasers, and one with a blaster. Their job is to hang back and protect our people by picking off any opponents with lasers or blasters. Our blaster man works up close, among the baton men, of course, and concentrates on needlers.

"Now," he continued, "I'm telling you this because I must tell you that we will be happy to become the ship's security force, but only if our snipers are part of the team. They've been training with us, and all of our people find their presence very comforting."

The Captain's face clouded, and Raymond hurried on. "Really, Captain, our people are no threat to the ship. You even know one of the snipers, Ron Creding."

Captain Angelo's frown lightened slightly as he glanced at Ron. "Creding, eh? I should have guessed." He paused, and then shrugged. "Oh well, at least he's not trying to blow up the ship. All right, Messer Koh. You can have your snipers."

That settled, the conversation moved to practicalities. Raymond's militia consisted of forty baton men and the three snipers. He was sure that at least thirty of them would volunteer to become ship security. Ron was certain Tara would volunteer, but he sighed with disappointment. He was going to have to adjust his schedule to accommodate both his classes and security duties, and since Tara was the only other sniper, it was obvious that they would be opposite each other on the schedule, and Ron was painfully aware that he would be seeing little of her for a while.

Several of the surviving redsuits would also begin training as snipers, and the rest would receive refresher training with the side-handle batons. The batons were very popular with the redsuits now. A number of them were looking forward to being able to use them on the colonists they blamed for the deaths of their friends. Raymond was going to have to watch them carefully.

Instead of the red shipsuits that identified the crew security detachment, the militia settled for a red armband sewn around the left arm of their issue shipsuits. They now wore their batons suspended from belts around their waists, and Ron and Tara could now wear their holstered lasers.

With surprising speed, life returned to its normal, slow pace, at least for awhile. 29 of the Dorm 25 children had been adopted, once Cesar reminded the Council that none of them were getting any younger, and that they would need all of the
young
hands they could find to tame a planet. Otherwise, the welded hatch of Dorm 25 became the only reminder of the revolt.

******

4 September 2206

The comfortable sameness of ship life was again affected as the ship's long-range sensors began detecting their second possible home. The excitement was somewhat muted this time, but it was still palpable, and only grew as the sensor techs reported their results.