Exiled to the Stars (9 page)

They were combining their student lists with Cesar's shift lists almost an hour later when a broadly smiling Raymond Koh hurried into the mess room and clapped Ron on the back.

"They're
perfect
!" He gushed. "You can attack, defend, and even if your opponent has one, without training he doesn't stand a chance!"

Ron grinned. "So, when do you start organizing your militia?"

Raymond's answering grin was wide. "I've already started. I've put together a list of about ten I already know I'll want to recruit. And Cesar has called a meeting with all the men between 17 and 50 for this afternoon.

"17 and…That's
me
!"

Raymond clapped him on the back again. "Yep. See you at 1400!" He sauntered out the door, grin firmly in place.

Raymond conducted the meeting. He had brought a baton, and briefly demonstrated its use. He enthusiastically repeated and reinforced Cesar's plans for the dorm's survival and development. By the time he was finished, the men in the room were crowding his table to sign up for the militia.

Ron joined them, but Raymond didn't write down his or Vlad's names. Instead he grinned. "I'll talk to you after the meeting." He said with a wink.

Ron and Vlad waited, impatient with irritation. Finally Raymond escaped the crowd and came to join them.

Ron demanded to know why Raymond hadn't signed them up.

Raymond grinned. "Because I think you're going to be much more valuable. You've already admitted you have at least one stunner, and I would expect you have two. I also suspect you have other interesting weapons hidden somewhere."

Ron started to protest, but Raymond waved a dismissive hand. "No, I'm not trying to take them from you. But our batons have one serious weakness. They're strictly hand-to-hand weapons. The most skilled baton man in the world would be helpless against an unskilled clod with a stunner.

"No, I want you to be cover, to take out any of the enemy equipped with a distance weapon, like a stunner, blaster, or laser."

He started to continue, but Tara Conner suddenly appeared at his elbow.

"I want to join up," she said baldly.

Raymond was surprised. "This is not women's work," he said in a tone of irritated disdain.

But she didn't retreat. She shook her head. "If you're talking about fighting with clubs, you're right. But…" She suddenly whirled to confront Ron.

"I saw you whispering with that scrounger upstairs. You gave him money. I don't figure you were buyin' bubble gum. And if you've got shootin' weapons, you need me." Her urban midwestern Noram accent was fading, changing. Ron decided her new accent was rural southern Noram.

Her gaze swept the men. "Any of y'all ever kill anything? Man or animal?" She grinned at their uncomfortable expressions. "I didn't think so. Well, I was raised on a farm, and hunted with my daddy and brothers until I ran away to Nawlins. I've killed animals, domestic and wild. I've skinned them, and I've gutted them. Now, most of my experience is with old-fashioned rifles and pistols, but I'm damned good with them, and I've handled hand lasers, and shot a blaster a few times."

Ron stared. "You're a
farm
girl? Do you have any idea how much we're going to need you when we find a planet?" But she just looked irritated and shook her head.

"I'm not going to let you distract me. I'll bet the computer has a VR marksmanship training program. If I can't outshoot all of you, I'll shut up and go away. But if I can beat you all, You're gonna want me covering your club fighters!"

Vlad nudged Ron. "Uh, Ron," he said quietly, "I've never fired a weapon in my life. Perhaps this young lady could make much more effective use of them than I could."

Ron had already been thinking guiltily along similar lines. He turned to Raymond. "Let's give her a chance, Raymond. If it comes to fighting, you're going to want the best people you can get."

The computer
did
have a VR marksmanship practice program. Fifty meters was a
long
distance, Ron decided. Luckily, it was only used for slow fire with a laser. But even the twenty-five meter rapid fire targets seemed far away. The seven-meter blaster range was more his style. The computer's VR simulation of a target range was perfect, and the fact that all of them could share the simulation made it even more realistic.

Tara was unfazed. She simply stepped up and picked up the computer-controlled practice hand laser. Ron was a bit startled when she used both hands to hold the weapon, but then reflected that it was probably much more stable than his holovid-inspired one-handed grip.

Standard rules for slow fire allowed one minute per shot, or four minutes for the normal hand laser's four shot magazine.

Tara fired her four shots in less than a minute, and scored 36 out of a possible 40.

Ron decided to copy Tara's two-handed hold, but even so, he scored only 26, despite using over three minutes.

A clearly worried Raymond stepped up, and he, too copied Tara's grip. But it was obvious he had little, if any, experience with lasers when he scored 14, with only two hits within the scoring rings.

Vlad simply begged off. He'd never even
touched
a laser, and joked that he really didn't need a hole in his own foot.

On the rapid-fire course, with its shorter range and larger scoring rings, Tara scored 38 out of 40, easily completing her four-shot string of fire within the eight-second limit.

Ron figured she had made her point, but he stepped up to the firing line and put the target in the sighting rings of his weapon, ready for the 'start' signal. Unfortunately, the buzzer still managed to startle him, and he jerked the firing stud for a complete miss. Bothered by this, he only managed three shots in the allotted eight seconds, for a score of 15.

Raymond didn't even try. He simply admitted defeat. They removed the VR helmets and moved out of the classroom and the computer's hearing range.

Raymond sighed, and turned to Ron. "All right, Ron, we all know you have weapons. I'd like you to get them and share them with our only militiawoman. While we're waving clubs around at each other, I want you two to get plenty of practice. You are the people who are going to keep the flies off us while we're taking care of business. Ron, I expect you to practice until you're almost as good as Tara. Tara, you coach him."

Tara walked away with a satisfied smile, and Raymond approached Ron. "All right, Ron, how many and what kind of weapons
do
you have?"

Ron had already decided to trust the burly young man. "Raymond, we're a part of this dorm now. Of course we'll share the weapons. As you saw, neither of us are warriors. We just had a lot of credits to get rid of, and a lot of scary people in our dorm. We have one blaster with three power packs, and two lasers with two each. We have a practice rig for the lasers, but we probably won't need it with the VR. We also have holsters for the blaster and lasers, and two stunners with four spare power packs, four fighting knives and four practice knives."

Raymond whistled. "Wow! You're ready for a war! All right, you and Tara take the lasers. I'll check around to find someone who's good with a blaster." He grinned. "We also have a few good knife men." He paused. "I'll have to think about the stunners. They're
very
handy for taking prisoners!"

Ron shook his head. "If it's all right, I'd like to keep one of those knives and a practice knife. I may need a hand-to-hand weapon some day."

Raymond's grin faded. "Of course. Actually, Tara will need one, too. I'll find you a good man to help you learn knife fighting. There's probably also a good VR program for it. Damn!" he continued, "We just might be able to take care of ourselves!"

"Anyway," he continued, "you should bring in all the weapons, so they don't get stolen. I want you and Tara to keep those lasers handy in your bunk at all times. We don't know when you might need them very quickly. If I could, I'd have you wearing them in the holsters. But I suspect we're all under surveillance, and even though the Captain knows we're on his side, I'm not sure he'd approve of colonists with lasers."

Ron turned most of the weapons over to Raymond. He and Tara kept one laser and two power packs apiece, as well as a fighting knife and practice knife each.

Since the knives he kept were new and still in their boxes, Ron was smiling as he presented one to Tara. She was unexpectedly delighted. "Do you know what this
is
?" She demanded in an amazed tone. "This is a Drake Ceramic Fighter!" She answered herself.

Ron was looking at the insert from the box. "This says it's a 'premium' knife. It must have been confiscated from some unlucky colonist."

"If so," she said with a wide grin, "He must have been a rich one! Daddy used to drool over pictures of their skinning knives in the catalog. The fighters are the most expensive knives in the line, and that means about the most expensive knives in the world!"

Ron's eyebrows rose. "Really? Why?"

"Because of the ceramic! It's patented. It takes an edge like a metal razor blade, but holds it damn near forever!" She rummaged in the box, and came up with a ceramic rod with a wood handle. "Ha! It has the sharpener! Those alone cost five hundred credits, but if you have the knife, you have to have the sharpener."

"Why?" He prompted her again.

She shrugged, causing distractions for Ron. "Regular sharpeners won't work," she replied. "The ceramic is too hard. Diamond is the only thing that'll sharpen it, and even that works by friction, not by cutting."

Ron looked at his knife. Except for the dull black finish, it looked like any other fighting knife; a seven-inch blade, double edged. It did have serrations on the blade side of the guard, which the information sheet claimed could catch an opponent's blade and, unless it was another Drake, snap it off. The handle was roughened for a good grip "even when wet", the sheet claimed. Ron looked in own box, and found the normal-looking ceramic rod sharpener as well as a plastic sheath, designed to hold the blade by the sides, not touching the supposedly super-sharp blade.

Knife in hand, Tara jumped up and swung her arms around his neck, frightening Ron badly. But she just gushed, "Oh,
Thank you
, Ron! This is the nicest present anyone's ever given me!" Before he could react, she kissed him on the lips.

Ron was startled, and struggled to figure out how to react. As suddenly as she had grabbed him, she released him and jumped back. She put her hand over her mouth.

"Oh my God, Ron! I'm so
sorry
!" Her unexpected apology only multiplied his confusion, as did his own undeniable physical reaction.

"Sorry?" his weak smile only emphasized his puzzled tone. "Why? Didn't you like it?"

She was looking as confused as he felt. She looked as though she were trying to decide whether to break into tears or giggles. "Of course I did, silly. But, well, you know what I am…was."

He shook his head. "I learned long ago on the streets of South 'Cago not to judge people by what they do to survive."

She looked relieved, but her smile was rueful. "I'm afraid many of the women around here don't agree with you."

He shrugged. "They'll come around. Do you want to swap bunks? I could ask Cesar…"

His voice trailed off as she shook her head, her expression becoming determined. "No. If I'm going to spend the rest of my life among these straights, I'm going to have to deal with their prejudices." Her smile resurfaced. "I'm used to being looked down on. I've been looked down on by experts!"

She looked around, her smile widening. "Oh, well, I've given them a gossip topic for at least a week!"

Chapter 4

15 November 2103

By the end of three months, things were shaking down well throughout the dorm. Several of the older men had dropped out of the education classes, but they had quickly been replaced by eager volunteers from their sister dorm.

Dorm 8 did not have a Cesar Montero. It was basically operating as if it were still a ghetto; a kind of anarchy. The dorm's thugs, who thrived on the disorder, had disrupted a half-hearted attempt to organize and form a government. Now, the thugs were in control, when they bothered to assert it. But the people of Dorm 8 watched Dorm 7's progress with envy.

When half-a dozen of the dorm's older residents had dropped out of classes, a delegation from Dorm 8 pleaded with Cesar to accept students from their dorm. The thugs were demanding payment from those wanting to use the training room in Dorm 8.

Cesar was angry that not all of "his" people were enthusiastic about his training plan, but Ron knew that not everyone is suited to academic education, and he had been expecting it. He was certain that if they began approaching a planet, many of them could be convinced to enroll in nonacademic practical training.

Cesar, though, wasn't giving up. He insisted on calling them "the lazy ones," at every opportunity. Whenever he passed a bunk section where they were sitting and talking, he made it a point to look at them, and then walk away shaking his head. Frankly, Ron thought he was overreacting.

But finally Cesar agreed, and eventually almost a dozen Dorm 7 residents had been replaced by Dorm 8 students.

Since the communal mess room was the only place available with seats, it was never really deserted, and the mingling of dorms EarthGov had desired was slowly developing.

Raymond had quickly convinced the Dorm 8 thugs that they would
not
be expanding their influence to Dorm 7, though two of them had to be taken to the med bay.

The militia was coming along well. They had devised formations and tactics Raymond hoped would be effective in the ship's corridors and mess rooms, and they were drilling daily.

Ron and Tara were also practicing daily, and it was obvious that they were becoming close.

Surprisingly, it was Tara who was resisting the addition of a romantic component to their relationship. The man who had taken the young girl and turned her into a prostitute had thoroughly broken her spirit first. Her self-esteem was nearly nonexistent, and she could not convince herself that a normal man could possibly be interested in her for anything but sex.