Paws and Planets (16 page)

Camilla watched
her diet carefully, anxious to keep herself attractively thin. She
often yearned for a metabolism like Gerry’s.

“Must get it
defensible,” she said half to herself.

Gerry heard
her.

“Won’t take
long,” was his answer. “I wasn’t kidding when I said it was
perfect. The rocks and ridges go almost the whole way round. We
just need to fill in the gaps. We can hold out forever there.”

Camilla admired
his confidence but was wary of such sentiments.

“We’re still
heavily outnumbered,” she cautioned.

“But it
can
be defended,” argued Gerry. “Nowhere else we’ve looked
at is even remotely suitable. If there was water they were not
defensible and that high plateau we investigated was as dry as a
bone. The mechanics are saying that the vehicles can’t go much
further anyway. They’re having the devil of a job keeping them
going in this sand and dry heat. The fine sand gets everywhere. The
engines keep clogging up.” Patting his sturdy mare, he added, “give
me a horse any time.”

Camilla knew
this, the vehicle batteries were recharging, it was the engine
mechanisms that were letting them down. This last day had seen more
breakdowns than all the previous days put together. She had to make
the decision, now.

The price of
command
, she thought dryly,
but this is what I’ve been
waiting for all my life. Didn’t think it would be like this
though.
Her dilemma was that she wanted to get as far away from
the ship as possible and knew they were still too close to the
river and the trail the prisoners would follow. But they might not
find anywhere else as good as the spot Gerry and his scouts had
found. If she decided that they must go on and then the trucks
stopped altogether they might find themselves in some forsaken spot
where they could be easily overrun. At least if they stopped here
they had the choice of ground from where to make a stand. The
nightmare of being run down in the open filled her with dire
dread.

Perhaps the
prisoners will give up and not come after us; perhaps they will
follow the false trail south.
She stood in front of Gerry, lost
in thought.

“Perhaps we can
beat them off. We certainly can’t settle anywhere not knowing where
the convicts are and what they are planning,” she said at last,
“and I want the chance to try. The lecturers at the Space Academy
did say that a defender was in a position of strength, but I’m sure
they weren’t thinking about a scant seven hundred adults holding
off twenty thousand!”

As she weighed
up the pros and cons, Gerry waited.

“All right
then,” she said at last, looking him in the eye. “We’ll do it,
let’s get started.”

Gerry let out a
whoop and the grey mare lifted her head restlessly, her ears
flattened against her head. Why was her beloved master making such
a noise? She was cold and hungry and wanted her nosebag, so she
nudged him with impatience, stamping her right hoof on the hard
dusty soil. With a smile and a pat, Gerry led her away for her
well-earned rub-down, rest and food.

* * * * *

The following
day, as the families were starting their climb towards what was
already being called ‘the Fort’, the prisoners were approaching the
river environs. They came across the truck abandoned by the
escapees and Murdoch insisted that it be got going again. His men
fell to this task with a will with improvised shovels mattocks and
within a short time it was up and over the sand dune. It started
first time. The members of Murdoch’s inner circle travelled in
style over the last miles.

“They’ve been
here,” said Smith as he parked the truck under some likely looking
trees. These were eerily similar to the palm trees on Earth
although their foliage was a dusky maroon rather than green. They
would provide much needed shade from the sun. The men who had been
given a ride spilled out and Murdoch turned to face them.

“Go find out
what way the families have gone. When the rest get here they will
obliterate any tracks they might have left.”

The reports
when they returned were as he expected, two sets of tracks, one
going north, the other south. Very clever but they wouldn’t fool
him! Sure enough, the men he sent south reported that the southern
trail petered out after a few miles. They would go north.

Over nineteen
thousand prisoners had elected to follow him, for the time being at
least. He assumed that there were many amongst them who were
waiting for the right moment in which to stage a coup. They were
waiting for him to make a mistake. He would have to make sure he
made none and if anyone rebelled against his rule ensure that they
were dealt with. Also, Murdoch was not above a bit of bribery and
corruption, some were of the opinion that they were going to have
the pleasing task of dealing with the guards when they were caught.
Others could be bribed with promises of a chance with one of the
women.

Not all of the
men were killers like Smith and Murdoch. Although the majority had
been transported as a punishment for capital offences, there were
other long-term prisoners. There was even a master computer hacker,
who had managed, in the halcyon days of his youth to strip the main
world coalition bank on Earth of a fair percentage of its assets.
There were doctors and dentists, lawyers and farmers and others who
had the misfortune (from their point of view) to be caught and
punished for their misdeeds, but they were survivors, hard and
resilient men who had managed to survive prison life for many
years, on Earth, on Moonbase Three and on the ship.

A few men had
elected to stay with the ship at the landing site. Murdoch had
agreed with their request, he wanted with him only those who had
the guts to follow. He had walked away from the ship without a
second thought. He had not however walked away from some other
prisoners. Like many criminals, Murdoch had a soft spot for
children. Whatever he did to his fellow man (and woman) when they
were adult, he would never willingly hurt a child. With access to
the ship’s data banks (the security codes had not been difficult to
circumvent) he had learnt exactly who had been incarcerated for
crimes against children, however minor.

Those who had
in Murdoch’s opinion, committed these more minor crimes, well, he
had come up with a simple and effective way of dealing with them.
He had sealed them up in the smallest hold on the
Electra
and left them there to die. With no fresh air being pumped in,
suffocation crept up upon them. Unconsciousness came first, then
death.

For those who
had used physical or sexual violence on children other more painful
punishments were devised, under the direction of Smith. These
paedophiles met their deaths in a slow and agonising manner,
castration (without anaesthetic) being only the start of their
torture and pain before the blessed oblivion of a knife across the
throat.

It had been
quite an achievement for Murdoch to get the unanimous agreement to
do this from the other block leaders and by agreeing to the
killings they had unwittingly established precedent. They had
obeyed Murdoch and would do so again.

The executions
had another more devious purpose, they were an object lesson and
demonstrated just how vicious Murdoch and his henchmen could be to
those they did not like and how future misdemeanours were likely to
be punished. Certainly no one would put a hand on a child with the
intent to hurt or harass during Murdoch’s tenure.

So he had a
following of some nineteen thousand, perhaps not whole-hearted
followers as yet, but followers for all that. Time would tell as to
who would survive and prosper in this society in the making.

That evening,
whilst waiting for the other block leaders to arrive for a meeting,
Murdoch watched the crowds of men milling around the riverbank.
There was much splashing and laughter. They were free at last and
the only thought in their minds was of enjoying this newfound
freedom. Realisation would hit them later when the last of the food
ran out and they had to start providing it for themselves.

At the meeting
the leaders discussed their next move. Murdoch let them talk, it
would do no harm, but he had already decided what they were going
to do next.

“We have time,”
he interrupted when the conversation seemed to be going round and
round in circles and not getting anywhere, “but I don’t want all of
us going north to destroy the crew. I don’t want anybody slowing us
down. We only need those who can keep up and fight at the end of
it. The crew won’t stand a chance.” He laughed and the other
leaders joined in.

“They’re in the
hills?” asked Baker, leader of Block F, pointing northwards with a
grimy hand.

“Only place,”
was Murdoch’s terse reply.

“How do we get
there and more to the point, how do we fill the men’s bellies while
we march?” asked Mahler, one of the other block leaders.

Like the crew
and families who had preceded them to the river, they had also
noticed the scarcity of large game in the vicinity.

Cracov, a hard
muscular man (undefeated block wrestling champion for the last nine
years) and who had appointed himself head of Murdoch’s personal
guard, had commented on this fact earlier in the day. “Seen us
coming, don’t worry General, they’ll be around somewhere. We saw
pictures of what must have been herds of game on the ship
remember?” Murdoch had liked being called General by the man. It
made him feel and sound important. Cracov was being encouraged to
continue using the title.

“Another reason
to get there as soon as possible,” said Murdoch.

“We follow the
river north?”

Murdoch nodded,
“and the trail; you can’t hide the passage of a thousand
people.”

“Need to get
more food soon,” reiterated Baker. “Problem is that we don’t know
what’s edible and what’s not.”

“I know how to
sort that out.” Murdoch smiled a conspiratorial smile. He lowered
his voice and they drew closer the better to hear what he said.

“The old and
the sick,” Murdoch announced in a low voice, “they won’t last long
anyway. They are expendable. Test the roots and fruit and whatever
else on them. Simple really, if they live then its edible, if not,
it doesn’t matter. Least we’ll know.”

So it was
agreed. The rules of this new society were forming without most of
them being aware of it.

Rule one had
become survival of the fittest.

Rule two was
the pre-eminence of those clever and strong enough to take
charge.

Rule three was
the disposal of the weak and unwanted.

“We’ll rest
here for a few days,” decided Murdoch. “Get organised. We can start
the men’s military training. Take care when you choose the men you
are taking with you. Make sure they all have a weapon of some sort
and enough provisions to last them for at least three days, more if
you can manage it.”

“What about
those who will be left behind?”

Murdoch looked
at the man who spoke. It was obvious that this one did not yet
fully understand the full import of the new order of things. He
shrugged his shoulders, fact was; he didn’t much care.

What happened
next is revealed in the first in the Planet Wolf Series, Wolves and
War.

* * * * *

EPISODE 6 -
MOONS AND WATER

A conversation
Tara Sullivan (Wolves and War, Conflict and Courage) had with her
father on the WCCS Argyll, some months before the cosmic storm and
an explanation as to why the family decided to join the convoy to
Planet Riga.

Tara’s
recollection of the conversation takes place whilst in the
emergency decompression cabinet when she is waiting for rescue
after the storm.

As the hours
passed, her thoughts began to wander. Tara was too young to
remember the planet of her forebears. She herself had been born on
the ship, a scant two months into the convoy’s journey. Her parents
had told her of what had forced them to sign up for the colony. Her
teachers in the ship’s classrooms also taught her the story, but
she much preferred the tale when recounted by her father. He made
it sound interesting, not merely a difficult and incomprehensibly
technical lesson as when taught in class.

She remembered
their conversation.

“Tara,” he
said, “you do understand the effect the Earth’s moon has on the
tides back on Earth?”

“I think so,”
Tara replied. “At least, partly. When the moon is full and new,
high tides happen.”

“Yes,” he
answered, “and have you heard of Proxigean Spring Tides?”

“The teachers
have told us, but I don’t understand it all.” She continued, a
worried expression evident on her earnest young face, “and if I
don’t understand it I’ll fail the test tomorrow!”

Papa was
patient. Perhaps when he was twelve he had found the concept hard
to understand as well.

“Right. I’ll
explain it again. A Proxigean Spring Tide happens when the moon is
closer than usual to the Earth. In the twentieth and early
twenty-first centuries this type of tide happened perhaps once
every one and a half years. Something happened to the moon at the
end of the twenty-first century and the moon’s elliptical path
round the Earth changed. Are you with me so far?”

Tara
nodded.

“A small ten
per cent change in the moon’s orbit can cause a twenty-five per
cent increase in the abilities of the moon to affect the tides. The
result of this change was that these tides increased in frequency
over the next two centuries. It is called tidal triggering. By the
beginning of
this
century, these tides were happening over
two times a month and some of them were very high indeed. Can you
think of what that might do to low-lying lands?”