Stays grabbed my arm and pointed toward one edge of the crowd. "That's Ramis. The tall mokker with the shiny head. I know him. Watch yourself."
Ramis was big and shaved bald, and the home made cutter he had in his hand looked as big as a sword. I glanced at Stays, and he shot me your basic wimped-off shit-eating grin. "How're you going to handle it, Chief?"
The first thing that came into my mind was unslinging my piece and drilling Stays between the eyes. "Let's get this mob moving."
I walked into the center of the crowd and stood between Ramis and Kid Scorpion. That was when I saw that the Kid had a cutter of his own balanced in his left hand.
Most of those in the crowd were drooling for a fight, and I wondered if there was such a thing as being addicted to violence. I noticed some addicts of another kind, too. In the crowd I could pick out two or three deadheads who were well into the sweat-writhe-and-heave thing. Sooner or later we would have to deal with the deadheads. That was a big problem coming up. Right now they were substituting blood for the alk and other stuff.
There was a roar from the crowd. I turned and saw that Kid Scorpion was waving his cutter. It was time to stop worrying about the deadheads. One thing at a time. I held my rifle up at waist level and aimed it around at the crowd as I raised my voice.
"Now, these two razors have some rhubarb to eat, and they don't need anyone here except those who want to get cut. If you stick around, you're going to have to fight."
"Sez who?" demanded a yard monster from the edge.
I fired my piece and kicked up the sand between his legs. He grabbed his balls with both hands, jumped backward, and landed on his ass in the sand. I waved the gun around some more.
"People, if you aren't going to fight, cruise." The crowd began moving off. There was a background mumble of threats and curses, but after a bit there was only Stays, me, Ramis, and Kid Scorpion. I waved my piece at the Kid. "Let's move out into the dunes so we can settle this thing."
The Kid looked at Ramis, and Stays pointed his weapon at Ramis.
"You heard the man."
Ramis spat on the sand. "The man," he said with scorn as he lifted his knife. "The man is forgettin' what we do with the man."
"Ramis," Stays said with a deadly quiet voice, "I'm not very good with this gun, but at this range I couldn't even miss something as small as your brain." He gestured with the weapon's muzzle. "Start moving."
"You're dead meat, haystack. You and the spic both."
Stays aimed his weapon at the center of Jobo Ramis's face. "Then I got nothin' to lose."
Ramis bit at the skin inside his mouth, then turned and walked east with long strides. The Kid followed and Stays and I brought up the rear. I looked at Stays and he gave me another one of those grins. He was having the time of his life.
When we were well away from the others, I asked the Kid, "What happened?"
"None of your business, asshole."
I looked at Ramis. The mokker waved his hand at me as though he were brushing away a fly. "This's nothin' to do with you, Nicos. Why don't you and your asshole buddy go and play po-leece-man someplace else?"
I nodded my head emphatically. "Oh yes it does have something to do with me, Ramis. I've been appointed by our esteemed leader to investigate and settle this caterpillar fight. Now, one way I can settle this is to thin both of you right now and say that you attacked me and Watson here. Unless someone wants to talk to me, that looks like the way to go. Right Watson?"
"Elementary," said Stays, with only a foot or so of tongue in his cheek.
"Bah!" Ramis growled. "This is beef that goes back to the Crotch, Nicos. Let us settle it our own way."
I nodded. "If you'll settle it, that's all I want. What I don't want is you two trading these little taps and scratches while slinging around all of these heavy threats. It upsets things. If you both want to cut it up, get down to the earnest slicing. It'll save me a lot of trouble." I looked at Kid Scorpion. "How about it, Kid? You want to get in there and yank out a few yards of guts?"
The Kid thought for a long time. He looked at the sand and threw down his cutter. "I'm no razor."
Stays jabbed me with an elbow. "What now, Chief?"
I glared at him and shook my weapon as I muttered, "I could just as easily blow your balls off, Watson, or doesn't that make any difference to a retired anarchist?" I turned from Stays and looked at Jobo Ramis. "Why're you after the Kid?"
Ramis's eyes narrowed as he looked at Abner Pandro. "He came for me. He's worked on me with his fists back in the Crotch. I wasn't gonna let it happen again. I told him then I'd kill him the next time he hit me."
I looked at the Kid. "Well?"
The fighter grinned and nodded. "I whipped his ass, and good. But he ain't sayin' why I done it. He stole somethin' from me. I found out about it and put the thump on him real good."
Ramis pointed a finger at the Kid, "That thing you say I stole was mine! The Bird gave me that before he died and you stole that from—"
"I didn't steal nothin'. I bought that from—"
"Enough!" I shouted. When they were quiet, I shook my head. "Look, you both know there's no way to sort out old crowbar beefs. They go on forever. You two forget this one. Forget everything that happened before we landed here. That's another life. It's done past."
The Kid held out his right arm streaked with blood. "What about this?"
I raised my eyebrows. "Maybe you should get someone to bandage it up? With all the killers, thieves, and swindlers in the column, there ought to be a doctor or two."
The Kid's face became dark with anger. "I mean what're you goin' to do about him cuttin' me? This happened after the landin'."
I looked at Ramis. The big man looked down and shrugged his shoulders. "The Kid came at me with his fists. I'm no boxer. What was I supposed to do?"
I looked at the Kid as Stays said to him, "It's your ball."
Kid Scorpion held out a hand as he looked down. "Yeah, I went for him, but back in the Crotch he threatened—"
"Back in the Crotch is done past," I interrupted. 'Back in the Crotch is less than ancient history. It's long gone, done past, dead, like it never was." I pointed at him. "Kid, you went for him with your fists and got cut. You asked for it. Don't go for him again and you won't get cut again. Now bandage up, shut up, and put it to rest. If it happened before the landing, its done past, dead." I waved the muzzle of the rifle around. "If you can't put it to rest, I'll put it to rest for you. Do we all understand me? Am I clear?"
The Kid looked as though he was trying to choke down a big one. Finally he nodded. I looked at Ramis and the mokker nodded once and headed back toward the column.
"Bando?"
"Yeah, Stays?"
"I have a question."
"What?"
"With all of the new friends you and I are making these days, don't you think it might be wise if we sort of stood watch over each other when it's time to sleep?"
I looked at the drips of the Kid's blush on the sand. "I don't suppose this is going to be the end of trouble, huh?"
Stays snickered and pointed toward the column. "Killers, crooks, mass murderers, torturers, bombers, thieves—just about the highest concentration of me-first mothers in the universe. Every single one of them has been judged an unrehabilitatable criminal. At least a third of them should be in rubber rooms, and the only thing that they hate more than each other is a cop." He lowered his hand. "Should we live so long, I think we've found full-time work."
"Nance isn't going to stick us with this permanent."
Stays grinned. "Keep your sense of humor, Bando. I think we're all going to need it." He held up his rifle. "By the way. Don't you think it's about time you showed me how to load and fire this thing?"
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Old Anarchists Never Die
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That evening as we sat around the fire waiting for the night march to begin
, I had my arm around Alna's shoulders as I looked at the faces. Bloody Sarah was updating Nance about organizing and training the riders. Sarah had also appointed Ondo Suth as an advisor and training officer. Sarah had kept the four riding groups and had added a walking group to back up each of the riding groups. The combination of each riding and walking group was called a guard, and Sarah had taken sharks from each of the guards to train herself. Most of them were ex military of one kind or another. Once they were trained, they would go back to their guards and train them. After that, sharks would be appointed to train the walking column.
The walking column itself was changed. Those with weapons walked on the sides, while the weak, wounded, and non-fighters walked in the center. A group of the non-fighters was assigned to keep track of the captured food and water situation, which was in pretty good shape right then.
A medical unit was being formed, as well as a sanitation team whose job it would be to dig latrines and fill them in when we left an area. A machinist who had ended a labor dispute by killing six union officials with a bomb, and a weapons fanatic who had supplied death to most of the galaxy, formed the core of an ordinance unit and were already busy collecting parts and repairing weapons. Stays and I were the po-leece. The silence that announcement drew was enough to convince me that, the very first chance I got, I was going to fade like a friend in need.
There were a lot of things we needed to learn about fighting on Tartaros and surviving in the Forever Sand. We weren't making forty miles a day and our water was nowhere near enough to last us until we reached the Big Grass. Besides the sand grapes, Ondo knew of some other things to do to get water and food.
Farther toward the south we would begin running into desert plants that could be recognized by a long stalk that supported a purple flower that looked like a thousand tiny little bells. The flower was edible and tasted like celery greens.
If you scooped away the sand and made it to the root, there was a white and lavender bulb that was anywhere from six to twenty inches across. The bulb could be cut up and chewed for water, or grated and the pulp squeezed. The water was sweet with sugar, and the pulp dried out and ground made a self-rising flour.
Ondo continued talking about edible lizards and insects, and I settled back to think about being a cop. Man, it made my skin crawl just thinking about it. How many times had I seen some arrogant stain in tailored grays and mirror glasses, strutting his fat ass down the block, itching for a skull to crack to prove that the street belonged to the badges.
And what would a gang of cop-haters do with me and Stays? Just to ride the fantasy for a bit, what if everything worked out just fine, we whip Kegel and find the promised land? What then?
I nodded just a little. What they'd do with us is what's always done with cops. You flatter 'em, you call 'em names, you stroke 'em, you spit on 'em, and when nobody's looking, you kill 'em. Nobody but the cop-killers ever gets real with a cop because, underneath all of that hate, scorn, and ass-kissing is fear.
Everyone fears the cops, and the more honest the cop is, the more the stain is feared. A cop's husband told me that once back when I was fifteen. I was in a squad room cage waiting to be pissed on, and I was sitting on the bench in a corner against the bars, my arms folded. There was a guy standing by the door to the squad room, and he was nodding and talking to the stains. A female cop breezed through, patted his cheek, and said it would be a few minutes more.
There was an empty chair next to the cage and he sat in it. After awhile he asked me, "Why are you here?"
I blasted at him, "None of your fuckin' business, man!"
I faced away from him and he was silent for a long time. Then he said, "I'm afraid of them, too."
"Huh? Cops? You afraid of cops, man?"
"That's right?"
I laughed. "Say, ain't that little stain you're waitin' for your old lady, or somethin'?"
"My wife."
"You afraid of her, man?"
I remembered he sat back in his chair, looked out at the squad room and said, "Just a little. But it's there."
As I remembered it, he was the guy who told me that cop was an abbreviation for 'constable of the people.'
I was afraid of cops and the law then, and I was afraid of them now. I was getting afraid of myself. If I couldn't corner out my head and get right, maybe I'd just have to leave the gang and continue on my own.
I brought my attention back to the present and looked at Pussyface. Garoit was on his side staring into the flame of the ice cube, and Nance was listening to everything that was being said. Every so often she would poke Garoit's shoulder and ask, "You hear that?" In response, he would nod.
At last she got to me. "Bando, that job I gave you?"
"Yeah?"
"Well?"
"Well, I settled it."
Garoit snorted out a laugh and said, "I think Nance would like you to expand on that a bit."
"Expand? I look like a balloon to you?"
Nance clasped her hands together and looked at me with unblinking eyes. "So what was the beef? How did you settle it?"
"Jobo Ramis and Kid Scorpion were working an old yes-I-did-no-you-didn't from back in the Crotch. I told 'em to knock it off."
Nance looked at Martin Stays. "Can you add anything?"
Stays nodded and said, "The chief here—" There was a round of laughter at my expense. I let him bathe in a glare for a bit, and when the laughing died, Stays continued with, "Bando laid a couple of rules on the mokkers. First, if it happened before the landing, it doesn't count."
"What was the other rule?"
"The other rule was, if two razors want to walk off into the dunes and slash it out, that's their business. It becomes his business," Stays pointed at me, "when the fighting disrupts everybody else." He looked around at the circle. "As a matter of fact our little band is developing quite a body of policies and law."
"What're you talking about?" asked Nance.
"I'm talking about our rules of operation. We have quite a bunch."
Garoit spat at the sand and said, "Some anarchist."
"I'm only your humble reporter, Garoit, not a judge." Stays reached into his parka pocket and pulled out a tiny black notebook. He opened it and said, "The first policy," he grinned at Garoit, "was made the night of the landing." He read, "Each person is responsible for his or her own sustenance."
I nodded. "Yeah. After Garoit said something about redistributing the wealth, Dom grabbed him by his throat and said 'What's mine is mine.'"
There were some chuckles, Stays nodded and looked back at his notebook. "The second policy was put together on the third day when Nkuma split." He read, "Each person is free to follow the leader he or she wants."
Nance held her hand out over the fire cube. "Let me see that."
Stays handed her his notebook, and as she read, I said "Who're you supposed to be? Moses?"
"No, I'm no lawgiver. As I said, I am only your humble reporter."
When she was finished looking at the notebook, Nance handed it to Garoit and looked at Stays. "Your handwriting really blows."
"Sue me."
"Why're you keeping a record? Why're you doin' that?" She pointed at the notebook in Garoit's hands.
"It's interesting seeing what a bunch of sharks come up with after they've been handed this special kind of freedom." Garoit handed the notebook to me. I opened it and began reading.
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POLICIES (not voted on)
1. Each person is responsible for his or her own sustenance (Dom's Decision). On the march, Day 1.
2. Each person is free to follow whatever leader he or she wants (Nkuma splinter). On the march, Day 3.
3. Policies can be changed by the leader and by majority vote (The vote on Nazzar's no prisoners proposal). On the march, Day 3.
4. Policies changed or affirmed by majority vote become laws (no prisoners) changeable only by majority vote. On the march, Day 3.
5. The leader of the gang is elected by plurality vot
e (the pro-army/anti-army contest between Nance Damas, Darrell Garoit, and Neala Gates where pro-army candidate Nance Damas won and everyone became a part of the army). On the march, Day 4.
6. The leader has the power to appoint subordinate positions (Nance Damas appointed Darrell Garoit number two, Sarah Hovit head of the army, and Bando Nicos investigator). On the march, Day 4.
7. Each appointed officer has the power to appoint subordinates (Sarah accepted her current choice of generals, Bando appointed Martin Stays deputy). On the march, Day 4.
8. The 'no prisoners' law includes not forcing anyone to serve in the army (Damas interpretation). On the march, Day 4.
9. Not serving in the army is grounds for expulsion from the Razai. On the march, Day 4.
10. Fighting to the death is allowed as long as the fighting is confined to the combatants (Ramis-Pandro rhubarb). On the march, Day 5.
11. Any crimes or issues that originated before the landing are done past. Any kind of retribution based on such crimes is a new crime (Ramis-Pandro rhubarb). On the march, Day 5.
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LAWS (voted on)
1. No Prisoners (either keep 'em, kill 'em, or cut 'em loose) proposed by Rhome Nazzar, voted in on the march, Day 3.
▫
When I finished reading, I handed the notebook to Alna and frowned at Stays. "Watson, you sure can find more damned silly ways to kill the clock."
Garoit rubbed his chin and shook his head. "Stays, what's the point of trying to make some kind of constitution out of the choices we've made so far? Most of the things you have in that list were nothing more than the most expedient thing at the moment—what seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Pussyface, you have just described most of the statutory laws in the universe."
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