Exiled to the Stars (23 page)

Arheed's face purpled. But those of his people within hearing were now looking frightened, jumping to their feet and staring at the dirt as though it had suddenly sprouted fangs.

"This is that chink Montero's work," he hissed. "I'll have you know I am a member of the Governing Council. You have no authority to order me around!"

Boyet's smile widened. "Actually, this action was ordered by unanimous agreement of all the surviving Council members. Except yourself, of course." He raised his stunner. "What's it going to be?"

With a glare at Boyet, Arheed began gathering his people and starting them back toward the ship. Those who'd been close enough to hear the conversation began repeating it to those who'd been farther away, of course, and by the time they reached the ship, people were frantically scraping the dirt from their shoes and practically running for the personnel airlock through which they'd exited.

They found all the hatches opening on the corridor sealed, and spacesuited men with tanks of disinfectant followed them back to Dorm 10. Once all 64 had entered, the hatch was closed and sealed. They found that their quarters were roomy. The 53 survivors from Dorm 9 had been spread among the other dorms, and its hatch sealed, as well. Under computer instruction, Life Support Specialist Cordes had given them a dedicated air supply, actually pumped in from the outside.

Arheed, of course, immediately called Cesar. "You damned chink! What do you think you're doing? If any of my people are hurt because you dragged us back aboard a wrecked ship, I'll…I'll make sure that everyone knows that
you're
responsible!"

Before Cesar could respond, Vlad jumped in front of the pickup. "And if people start dying from a plague
you
brought aboard, you fool, I'll make sure everyone knows about that, too! And if you ever use that term to Messer Montero again, you and I are going to have a little talk! Maybe you've got a term for
me
, too?"

Arheed paled, but put on an angry glare. "Nonsense. There was no danger. All you have to do is read the drone reports.
Messer
Montero, our unelected dictator, is the threat. Him, and this falling-down wreck of a ship!"

Cesar shook his head. "And exactly where did you expect to find food for your people out there, Messer Arheed?"

The small man shrugged. "I was certain we could find volunteers brave enough to return to the ship and get food for us."

"And shelter?"

"Hmph! Do you think I'm a fool? I was already selecting scouting parties to see what could be salvaged from the wreck."

Vlad stepped forward again. "Actually, Messer Arheed, I
do
think you're a fool, and a bigoted one, at that. Risking the lives of people who elected you to lead them, just because you can't believe a
chink
could know what he was doing was certainly the act of a fool." Without waiting for Cesar, he severed the connection.

Sun chuckled. "I haven't heard that word in twenty years," he said.

Cesar smiled. "Actually, I've never understood its meaning, or why it was supposed to be offensive. He certainly
meant
it to be offensive, though."

"Ha!" Vlad laughed. "You should try being black in NorAm. You're supposed to get offended by everything but whatever the currently fashionable term is. I've been through 'negro,' 'black,' "Afro-American,' and 'African-American.' Even after America was absorbed into WorldGov, we had 'Afroam' and finally 'Afro'. The only one that really lasted was 'black,' and it's still the most-used. But those who make a career of being offended keep trying, of course. After awhile, you just get tired of trying to keep up." He shrugged. "Oh, there is one term that kinda pushes my button, but it's the oldest one, and I don't hear it much anymore."

Cesar called Cordes and Tom and asked them to his 'office.' George Cordes was as tall as Tom, but he was a thin, intense man with a dusky complexion and nervous manner. Cesar congratulated him on a good job for quickly arranging the air supply for the quarantined dorm.

"I have a job for the two of you," Cesar began. "As you know, any areas remaining above deck 6 are damaged. More importantly, they're full of human remains that cannot be retrieved, or even cleaned up. The computer tells me that the fusion reactor should be back online in a few hours, if no new problems are found. That will let us deal with the bodies we've collected down here. But within a day or so, we will be suffering from a nasty stench and threatened by illness from necrotic products. I'd like the two of you to inspect as much of the upper decks as you can reach. First, I want to know how hard it will be to seal off the entire area above deck 6. By 'seal off,' I mean make an airtight or nearly airtight seal. We need to keep the bugs out, both microbe and insect. And perhaps also as much of the odor as possible.

"Second, I want to know what will be required to make the ship weather tight, both above and below deck 6. We must expect rain at any time, and water can carry as many microbes as air. Besides, one of our highest priorities
has
to be protecting the computer. We're going to need it desperately." He smiled. "It will be a nasty job, and a difficult one. But it's an essential one, and the sooner we can get it done, the better." He paused. "You might check with Dr. Koumanides to see if he can give you some masks to help with the odor."

Cordes snapped to attention and threw Cesar a crisp salute and an equally crisp, 'Yes,
sir
!' Tom just grinned and clapped the thinner man on the back. "We'll take care of it, Cesar. Probably take a day or so, though. Y'know," he added, "I think I'll see if any of my students will volunteer. The more eyes the better. And the quicker."

Cesar nodded. "I understand. Choose your helpers carefully, though, Tom. We don't have time to redo mistakes."

"That reminds me," Cesar said as the two men left. "Computer, what stores of breathing and surgical masks do we have aboard? As I told them," he explained to the others, "I'm afraid we're going to have a horrible stench hanging over the ship for a few weeks."

"Current inventory of odor-proof breathing masks is 100,000," the computer responded immediately. "This does not include 1,000 life support kits with filtered air supply, and seventy space suits with independent air supply. Supply of surgical masks is approximately 50,000. This is an estimate, as over 500 have been issued so far, and usage is ongoing and impossible to establish."

Cesar sighed and nodded. "Connect me with Dr. Koumanides."

When the harried-looking doctor appeared on his monitor, Cesar asked, "Doctor, when can we expect odors from decaying bodies to become a problem, and how long will they persist?"

The doctor frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, but that is difficult to say. On Earth, I would say the main immediate odors will be of urine and excrement expelled by the bodies, and the smell of blood, of course. The decay odors would not normally be a problem for several days. Of course, here, the majority of the wounds will involve crushing, which will release bodily fluids and may speed the chemical action of putrefaction. How long they last depends on the actions of scavengers and bacteria, and of course we have no idea what that will be here."

"How long would they last on Earth?"

The doctor shrugged. "It's not really my area of expertise, but if I remember my school lessons correctly, if there are no scavengers here, the bodies will typically mummify, and the odors should dissipate within a couple of weeks. But on Earth, when bodies are not found for awhile, those odors often penetrate the surroundings, furniture and such, and can persist indefinitely. In short, sir, we don't know enough about this planet to answer that question. But if you're planning to seal off the upper decks, you'd better get to it; On Earth, the first flies arrive and start laying eggs in minutes."

Cesar thanked him and signed off. He frowned. "A few years ago, we had a terrible stench in our house in Manila. Someone told me that a rat had died inside the walls. The only solutions presented were to live with it for a few weeks or to have several walls torn out to locate the body.

"We could not afford to replace an unknown number of walls, especially since no one would say exactly how
many
walls. If I recall correctly, we suffered for about two to three weeks. The odor finally dissipated, and was eventually forgotten. I sincerely hope this will be similar in intensity and duration."

Vlad looked troubled. "I dunno, Cesar, this may prove to be our biggest problem. If there are no scavengers or insects that can or will eat Earth flesh, we could suffer with those odors for
years
! And we can't just abandon the ship. We need the food and supplies aboard, and we will need access to the computer very badly."

"Perhaps," Cesar replied.

Chapter 9

Firstmonth 3, Year 1

Cesar called Tara on her tablet, and was confronted by her space suit's faceplate. It was difficult to tell through the faceplate, but he thought her eyes looked red from weeping.

"Hello, Tara," he said with a smile. "Seen any lions or tigers yet?"

A small smile flickered. "Not yet. And with nothing but a hand laser, I'm not in any hurry to find them. But If I see a tiger, I'm thinking of getting you a rug."

He smiled. "Don't bother. I'm set up in the Dorm 7 classroom, and there wouldn't be room for it. Has Boyet sent you any help?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Four of 'em. Three of 'em are ex-military. I figure that means they got in trouble and got cashiered." She shook her head. "I know I wouldn't have liked to see any of them come into the club in Nawlins. Fourth one seems all right, though. Says he's a hunter, and at least
talks
like it. I've got the mils situated in guard posts where they can see for a distance, but the hunter likes to prowl, so I've got him walking a patrol."

Cesar nodded. "Good. Think you can break away and come in for a while? You can grab some food, and maybe we can do better than that hand laser. Besides, I want to talk to you."

She had opened her mouth to protest when he'd mentioned food, but closed it again at the mention of a weapon, and the fact that he wanted to talk to her.

She nodded. "I think I can get away. The mils don't much like takin' orders from me anyway. I'll be right in." She clicked off.

"Sun," Cesar asked, "would you get a tray of food for Tara? She's just lost her man, and I may have to bully her into eating. But she has skills we need badly."

Sun bowed, eye twinkling. "Your wish is my command, O exalted one."

Cesar rolled his eyes. He turned back to the computer. "Connect me with Boyet Mamerto, please."

"Boyet," he said when the man's face appeared on his monitor, "Is everything all right with Dorm 9 & 10?"

Boyet grinned. "Everything's fine outside. I'm not so sure about
inside
, though. There's been lots of shouting, so loud that we can hear it through the hatch."

Cesar's eyebrows climbed. "Really? I hope that doesn’t become a problem for us." He waved dismissively. "In the meantime, though, I need to know how the Scout Corps is coming along."

Boyet smiled. "Not bad. I've had a steady stream of volunteers. People are getting pretty tired of sitting on their butts. I've been trying to weed out the fools that just want a weapon, or are just curious about the outside. I've got about ten I think might work out."

Cesar nodded. "Tara's not thrilled with the military types you sent her. She thinks they're bad apples; and Tara has pretty good instincts for troublemakers."

Boyet's smile faded, and he nodded. "I know. I wasn't real happy with them, either. But we needed people out there immediately, and I figured they could at least keep from burning their foot off with a laser for one shift."

"Well," Cesar replied, "Tara's coming in, and I'm planning to give her some weapons. If both of you think those three are trouble, maybe you'd better replace them before we start handing out hardware.

"I'd like you to join us anyway," he continued. "I'll be sending Tara to the armory. I'd like you to go with her. You'll probably want to pick out some weapons for your people, and she may need you to carry some weapons up here. I want us to spend as little time as possible down there. We don't want to draw attention to it. We may have to take real security measures soon. We won't be able to keep its location secret for long."

When Tara arrived, her eyes were red, swollen and haunted, but her demeanor was businesslike. "What do you need, Cesar?"

Cesar smiled and gestured to the tray Sun had just brought in. "First, I need you to choke down about 2000 calories."

Her answering smile was weak. "I'm not hungry, Cesar. Really. What did you want to see me about?"

He shook his head. "You sit down there," he said, pointing to the chair in front of the food tray. "Then, you eat at least a few bites. That's an order. And then," he continued, "We'll talk about getting you and your people some real weapons."

She shook her head and slumped into the chair, but straightened at the mention of weapons. "You've found the armory!" she said accusingly. "What've you got?"

He shook his head. "You'll find out when that tray is half empty, and not before. And you'd better hurry. Boyet is coming, and you don't want him to get all the good stuff."

"Bully!" She accused, but she picked up a fork and began eating. At first, she merely picked at the food, but after a few bites, her body's metabolism took over, and soon the tray was empty. Cesar nodded in satisfaction.

Boyet came in as she smiled weakly. "All right, you old bully, give. What have you got?

Cesar shook his head. "It looked like everything from slingshots to lasers, to me," he said. "I'll leave it to you and Boyet to choose. You'll both be able to enter the armory. But be discreet. I'm afraid security will become an issue, and I'd like to delay that problem as long as possible."

Tara nodded soberly. "Understood. I'll try to be discreet, and not just grab a double armful." She turned to Boyet. "Do you have anyone for my scouts that you would trust with a weapon?"

Boyet grinned. "Cesar told me you weren't pleased with my military types. Yes, I've got at least six I'd trust with weapons, and two more I'd be willing to take a chance on." He shrugged. "In a pinch, I can loan you a couple of militiamen. But I can't vouch for their skill with anything but a club."