by Darrell Bain
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Who, the men or the women?” he said cruelly, knowing it would hurt her. The sound of the thrusters grabbing for altitude drowned out her reply, not that he cared about it, but she was persistent.
“All of them,” she repeated. “The women especially. You aren't going to let them be raped, are you?”
“Get real, Sarah. Do you really think I could prevent it even if I wanted to? Some of these cons haven't had a piece of ass in twenty years. Hell, it's been a goddamned long time for me, too. I won't have to rape you, will I?”
She blushed and that made him feel good. As plain as he was, she really felt something for him. Had to, or she wouldn't have helped him. Still, that sergeant looked awfully goddamned good.
“Will I, Sarah?”
“No, you won't have to rape me, Crag. Where are we going?”
“To the edge of a lake I saw on the map the pilot showed me. It ought to be good for hunting and fishing and they gave us some seeds. We'll put those army dudes to work plowing.” He laughed loudly.
“It will take more than just them.”
“Yeah, babe, I know. You just settle down now and let me and Joe get organized.” He squeezed her thigh and grinned at her. He was beginning to look forward to the night despite her looks.
“How did Fondez get to be your buddy? I don't like him.”
Morehill leaned close. “I don't give a rat's ass for him either, babe, but I need him right now. You be polite to him. In fact, you hear anything about him plotting against me, anything at all, you let me know. Hear?”
“Are you worried about him?”
“Not now but later. I think he's a little crazy but he's useful. Just keep your ears open, okay?”
“Okay, Crag.” Shyly she reached and placed her hand on his thigh just like he had done to her.
“Good deal, babe. I can hardly wait until tonight.”
“Me, too,” Sarah said.
He thought it might help her compensate a lot for the dirty looks the other guards had been giving her ever since she allowed the takeover. He would do his part, anyway.
* * * *
News of the loss of the tender spread through the ship like wildfire. Travis made no attempt to play down the fact that the convicts had somehow managed to take over the craft. He still felt guilty over its loss and was unwilling for anyone else to take the blame. He thought it would make him very unpopular but he was surprised. Apparently the people appreciated some honesty in their leader and tended to forgive him for the failure, if they blamed him at all. Most didn't and he knew he probably had Brandon and Grindstaff to thank for that. They freely admitted that the way the convicts were handled had been their responsibility and that if any blame was to be attached, it should go to them rather than their captain.
In the meantime there was nothing to do but go on and that meant putting everyone to work at one job or another, whether it be plowing and planting, machining farm implements where they had none, preparing meals, hunting, exploring or investigating the entirely new environment. It also meant he had to roam the ship and outside it periodically, both to let the people see him and to check for himself what was being accomplished. At present he was in the science department where he had stopped to talk to Addie about her discoveries.
“This place is amazingly like earth,” she told him, not for the first time. “Other than the higher creatures having eight legs or something that serves in their place, we could be on earth. Even the vegetation seems to be free of toxins that affect us and I've identified just about all the vitamins and minerals that are necessary to us. This would be a prime colony world if anyone but us knew about it.”
“Your work is a priority, Addie, so keep your people busy. The sooner we learn what we have to know about this place to survive, the better.”
“That's what Brandon keeps telling me when I have time to see him.” She looked up at Travis. “May I ask you a question, Captain?”
“Certainly. Any time.”
“Well ... are you still considered captain of the ship or did that end when we landed? I don't mean that you're not still in charge of things, of course.” She seemed hesitant about continuing.
“Um. What are you getting at?” he encouraged her.
“Well, if you're still captain, then you could ... you could marry some one, couldn't you?”
“I couldn't marry one person,” he said and grinned mischievously. “It takes two.”
“Oh. Sure.” She returned his humorous grin. “But would it be legal?”
He thought for a moment. “Actually, my title is ‘Acting Captain'. If Captain Gordon ever recovers, he would take over again but he is far gone in paranoia and not apt to ever be well again. However, I'm considering decommissioning the ship. In that case, I would no longer have a legal title as captain.”
“Why would you want to do that?” she asked apprehensively.
“For one thing, so we could move on. Taking the ship out of commission would drive it home to everyone that we're here to stay.”
“But you did say you could perform marriages as acting captain, didn't you?”
“Addie, if you and Brandon want to get married, I would be more than happy to perform the wedding. Is that what you're asking?'
“Yes!”
“Okay. And now that you've brought it up, I think I had better make an announcement for any other couples who want the same thing. I realize some of them are already living together but I suppose at least a few of them would be happier if they were legally married.”
“Good. I'll talk to Brandon. I want it to happen soon because I think I'm pregnant.”
I shouldn't be surprised, he thought. But he was. He barely managed to congratulate her before his silence would have become embarrassing. He patted her shoulder and moved on.
* * * *
As he continued his rounds, he kept thinking of what Addie had said. It made him wonder why he had been hanging on to his title. Was it that he liked the power, the prestige of being called “Captain"? Maybe that was part of it but the main reason was that he couldn't think of a replacement who could do a better job. He was trained for the role and always knew he would someday attain it, although never in this fashion. He had already been largely successful in the integration of passengers into the chain of command. Brandon had been a considerable help and it was working well. There were still a number of rough spots but it was going much better than he'd hoped initially. Anyway, no one was complaining so far as he knew and that was the important thing. Time enough to decommission the ship if opposition arose and let the people choose a new leader then, if that's what they wanted. In the meantime he would go on doing the best he could.
“Hello, Borg,” he greeted the weapons officer as he entered his office through the open door.
Borg Johannsen looked up from a doubled paper schematic he was studying. He pushed it to the side and stood up to shake hands.
“Hello, Captain. What can I do for you?”
“Just stopped by to see how you're coming with our little innovation.”
He frowned. “I think we're going to be able to do it but I hope like hell you never give me a problem like this again.” He shook his head and grinned. “It's somewhat akin to stuffing a twenty-pound shell into a ten-pound cannon. That's if there were such things anymore.”
“But you can do it?”
“As I said, I think so. Sandy and the crew have got the port laser torn apart and separated from its mounting. I feel sure that if anyone can remount it in the tender, it's her. The hard part is going to be the power system but we'll manage somehow. Sandy suggested using the capacitors from both lasers and I suspect that'll be what we have to do. She's a tiger when it comes to heavy weapons.”
“She has an incentive. I suppose we can spare both of them. They aren't much good on defense anyway.”
“Why would we need defenses?”
“Suppose the convicts force Jimmy to pilot t
he tender back here and they use its bow gun on us?”
“Hmm. Hadn't thought of that. What are you going to do?”
“Get the army to keep watch. They've got a couple of heavy machine guns and their laser rifles are pretty powerful or so I understand. That's about all I can do, really, other than keep someone on the bow gun of our tender all the time.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Any word about the convicts?”
“Nothing yet. The satellite has made enough passes over Little Con to have found the tender if it was there unless it's very well camouflaged, and by that I mean like buried under rock. I doubt the convicts know she was rigged to ping when queried if it was in range and even if they did, burying a tender under rock isn't an easy task. I seriously doubt they could manage it.”
“An overhanging cliff, maybe?”
“It might work but might not, either. And even if they located one, it would be tricky landing under it. At any rate, we've switched the search back to Big Con. We needed to anyway while the satellite still has maneuvering fuel. There's lots of terrain we still need to map and we can do that while we're looking.”
“Well, good luck. I've got a couple of the engineers studying the quickest and most secure way to meld the cannon with the tender whenever you give the word. Which reminds me. How is Terrell making out with the other problem?”
“You mean using the ship's power core for work the tender is doing and freeing it up? He tells me it won't be soon, if he can do it at all. So we can't use it for a rescue just now. Anyhow, we still don't know where they are. There's a lot of area we'd have to search with the scope even after the satellite pings them, if it ever does. Then we'd have to make sure they were in that spot permanently, or at least long enough to mount a rescue. It's probably just as well we don't know where they are yet or I'd be tempted to use the tender, and there are just too many jobs we need it for right now. By the time we locate them and get a good fix and known flight path, I'll probably feel like I'm justified in trying a rescue. And I really hope that will be fairly soon.”
“It might be too late by then.”
“It might already be too late, Borg. I have to do what's best for everyone, much as I hate to in this case.”
Johannsen leaned back in his chair. “I'm not a strategist, Captain, nor a politician either. But sometimes what's best and what has to be done don't necessarily match.”
“Yes, I know. I could see people watching the laser being torn out. Everyone knows it's being done to arm the tender. There might come the time real soon when enough people will demand that we try a rescue even though I don't think it's justified yet.” He shrugged. “If that happens, the place will probably have a new leader. Sometimes I think I'd be glad.”
“Don't say that. You're doing a fine job, Captain. Everyone I talk to says so.”
“Thanks, Borg. That's nice to know. Keep on with the laser and let's both hope it's worthwhile. I want to see those people back here as much as anyone else. Don't ever doubt that.”
* * * *
“You try it and I'll break your fucking spine, you worthless piece of shit!” Esmeralda said to the tall scruffy man who stood suggestively in front of her and who had made an even more suggestive comment. She was literally scared spitless but she wasn't about to let that lowlife know.
“You little dyke, what you need is a big dose of dick to cure your smart mouth.” His leering grin showed several missing teeth. He grabbed confidently at her.
Esmeralda slid inside his reach, twisted sideways and brought the edge of her hand down in a hard savage chop that landed directly on his bicep.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed. “Ohhhh! Goddamn you, I'll—”
Another blow with the butt of her palm knocked him to the ground where he lay groaning and bleeding from a cut opened over his eye. She looked around, waiting tensely on the reprisal she thought was coming. What happened surprised her.
* * * *
“Leave her alone!” Morehill ordered as he strode swiftly toward the man. Damn it, they had just landed and already it had started.
“What, you think you're gonna have them all for yourself, Crag?” The man who had attempted to molest Esmeralda got up, holding his bruised arm in a tight grip and advanced on the convict leader. He was a head taller and just as solidly built.
Morehill stood fast. “You dumb shit. Did you forget they train army troops to take care of themselves? Or did you ever bother to learn?”
“What's that got to do with it? We've got the guns!”
“You're gonna get a gun shoved up your ass if you don't shut up and behave until we get organized. Hear? And you, chink or spic or whatever the hell you are, you hit one of us again, and it'll be your ass. Got it?”
Esmeralda couldn't figure out what the big man's motives were but she had already seen that he was the leader of the convicts. Him and that shit Fondez. She worked her tongue to get enough saliva flowing to answer.
“I'm not going to be raped. Not without a fight,” she said. “And if you gang up on me, not only will someone get hurt, but I'll shove a knife in some throats one night.” It was sheer bravado but it was all she had to fight with.
“We've got your knives, bitch,” the con who had tried to attack her said surlily.
“I don't care. A sharp stick will do just as well.” Their knives had been taken from them but she had been taught to improvise.
“You're going to take orders or some of you'll die,” Morehill said roughly. “It won't be you, but the first con you hurt, one of your male buddies will get a bullet to the head. You got it?”
Esmeralda stood silently for a moment then nodded. “We'll take orders because that's all we can do. And I guess we're going to be stuck with each other because there's no way any of us can work our way across three thousand miles of the continent and live even if we did manage to escape. But you'll have a lot better time of it if you take it easy and let us get used to you first.” She didn't know if what she was saying made any sense or not. She hoped it did.
* * * *
Fondez had followed Morehill and been observing. Now he stepped over to his new friend and said, “Let me talk to you for a minute, Crag.”
“Okay, just a second.” To Esmeralda and the man holding his arm, he said “Behave, both of you. Wong, you go talk to your friends. Tell them to be cool and not start anything. These dudes won't take much shit and you ought to know it.”
She nodded acceptance and he went with Fondez.
“The girl has a point, Crag,” he said. “We'd be better off trying to make friends with them than not.”
“You think so? I can control most of these dudes but some of them are crazy. I mean not really all there. You know?”
“I've noticed. But look, we've got how many women?” He counted mentally then said, “Six cons, your woman and the two army bitches. Nine, right?”
“Right. And over thirty men. The broads are gonna have to share.”
“They will. Ever hear the story of the Sabine Women? Or know about the Stockholm Syndrome?”
“I know about Stockholm. Hell, just about every con knows that one, even if they don't know the name of it, but what's a Sabine Woman?”
“It's an old story from literature thousands of years ago. Basically it just means that kidnapped women eventually go along with the program so long as they're not treated too badly. And you say you know about the Stockholm Syndrome. Now what I think we ought to do is play up the idea that you've all been mistreated to them. I wouldn't claim innocence or they wouldn't believe it but you can say you didn't deserve to be sent to a prison planet, a hell planet, nor to be shoved off out here by yourselves. That might work.”
“Maybe and maybe not. What about you? You aren't a con?”
“I am now, or hadn't you noticed?”
Morehill rubbed his chin, feeling the whiskers. “Yeah, I guess you are at that.”
“And I can wait.”
He screwed up his face in question, bringing the sca
r into even more prominence. “Wait on what?”
“For us to take over the ship. You didn't fall for that shit about Gordon going mad, did you?”
“Doesn't matter. There aren't enough of us to fight a thousand of them.”
“We don't have to fight them all, Crag. The tender has a bow gun. It's big enough to take out something its own size if used the right way and by surprise.”
“So?” He didn't get what Fondez was after.
“So what we do is learn to use it and use it well. Then one fine day we zoom in and shoot the shit out of their own tender. After that, we'll have the upper hand. We can raid them at will, take as many women as we want. Or hell, just shoot up their place real good and keep them scared of us. Eventually they'll either surrender and let us come back as free men or they'll have to live in the jungle. See?”
Crag wondered if Fondez believed his own shit. He rather doubted such a plan would work all that well, but on the other hand it sounded good and that might be enough to keep the cons in line. In fact, the more he thought about it, the better he liked it. It would have to be played right, that's all. It would keep spirits among the cons up, give them something to look forward to besides farming. That would be good because even though they'd been given seeds, he doubted many of the bozos with him were going to like being on the other end of an idiot stick. Raiding for food was more their style.
“Like a war, huh?” Morehill said, hoping Fondez would pick up on it.
His face brightened. “Exactly, Crag! That's exactly it! A war.”
“Okay, then you and me talk it up like that. You know, we offered to be citizens and they turned us down. Now whatever happens is their fault.”
Fondez is going to find out he isn't the only politician in the pack, he thought smugly.
“Yes, that's a fine way to put it, Crag. You're a natural, you know that?”
