Koban (45 page)

“They made it clear they were
not
in charge,” said Ray.
“It was one of the first things they told us. Each one of them told us separately
in fact. They claimed they were only making sure that ‘newbies’ didn’t let in the
pests.”

“That’s so,” confirmed Ray. “I think they were making a point
of ‘not being in charge’ here.”

“I remember your speculation Captain, that leaders here don’t
live very long,” Dillon reminded him. “I don’t think they want to even be associated
with a new leader. His presumed followers might be sent out to fight with him.”

“So show me to their living areas. I guess that’s where most
of our people are, right?”

“They have a sort of auditorium and cafeteria they call the Great
Hall, right over this way,” and Dillon led him deeper into the dome, crossing a
number of wide corridors that appeared to curve around the dome, much as ship corridors
did.

When they passed through a final wide set of double swinging
doors, they found themselves in a large open area at least three levels high, based
on the balcony walkways ringing the circular room. There seemed to be fifteen feet
per level for those. Human made table-bench sets were arranged in multiple rows
in the center, with perhaps two thousand people standing or sitting and talking.

The distinction of who was who was clear. The clean, neatly dressed
Flight of Fancy people were mostly seated close to the door the four came through,
and more were seated towards the center of the large room. Around the sides were
the more ragged looking, sometimes dirty long time captives. There was some interaction
going on, but not exactly an excited welcoming of the new arrivals.

“Tet, Dillon, over this way!” A familiar voice called to them.
It was Maggi, standing atop one of the tables closer to the center of the room.
She had heard from Jake that the Captain was on the way over to the dome.

Walking down a wider center row between tables, several of the
people off the Fancy had a few complaints for the Captain.

“They won’t help us with our wounded, Captain.” Pleaded a middle-aged
man, cradling the back of the woman who had broken her kneecap in the first minutes
of the evacuation. Her leg was stretched out along the attached bench of the table,
a smart bandage wrapped around her injured knee.

An overweight man asked, as Mirikami passed, “What are we going
to eat? They say they can’t share their rations with so many new mouths.”

“I asked for a gun, I wanted to go back to help. They wouldn’t
let me have one.” Complained a woman.

Mirikami only nodded an acknowledgement to each as he passed
them, holding his palm out, indicating they needed to be patient.

When he reached the center, he discovered Maggi, Aldry, Ana Cahill,
Zulma Krat, Rafe Campbell, and Motorman Andrew Johnson clustered at a four tables
pushed together.

The grouping was significant because these people had volunteered
to be members of the Immunity Committee for the Flight of Fancy’s complement. There
had been no open discussion with the Flight of Fancy people yet; there couldn’t
be until Telour was placed in charge of them. It wasn’t known yet how many would
be on the final committee, but the entire ship’s complement would be made part of
the decision.

As originally outlined, the group could not have any immunity
offered by Telour for themselves, but would select those that did receive combat
immunity from testing. No one knew how the previous captives would react to this.
The thinking was to extend the immunity to people with knowledge or skill the Fancy
could use in building weapons or devising tactics.

From the angry looking armed people standing around the tables,
it seemed likely that some sort of discussion had taken place that they didn’t like.
Mirikami sincerely hoped the subject of immunity or cooperating with Telour had
not been leaked. He had emphasized that until they knew where they stood with respect
to organizing that effort, that it be kept secret from everyone.

Motioning for the Captain to climb up and join her, Maggi whispered
in his ear as she pretended to lean over to give him a hand up. “They think so many
of got here alive because we collaborated with the enemy.” That explained the looks
he was receiving from them.

Maggi spoke out in her normal commanding manner to the crowd
around them, a voice so at odds with her small figure and grandmotherly appearance.

“Gentle Ladies and Gentle Men, this is Captain Mirikami of the
Flight of Fancy. The man that I told you saved us from slaughter on first contact
with the Krall, and who negotiated our receiving Ra Ka Endo while in transit to
here. That is why we have the same throat tattoos you bear, despite our new arrival.”

Wondering if that was the only subject that had the others upset,
Mirikami bowed formally in each of four directions. As he looked around the room,
he saw there were at least two thousand new faces looking back at him now, and no
longer avoiding his gaze. Then he saw others on the balconies above the perimeter
of the large room. It seemed possible that nearly all of the surviving captives
were watching him.

A man somewhere in the crowd shouted out “Is that true? You kept
the Krall from slaughtering any of your people? What did you get in trade for
that
?”

The accusing voice remained anonymous, hidden in the mass of
faces when Mirikami looked that way.

“We lost fifty six people in the first hour, and that was certainly
a slaughter, so no, we did not save everyone. We had no idea who was coming after
us, or what would happen to us. Until we received a recorded warning message. That
warning deserves more credit for saving lives than anything my crew or I did. A
human was responsible for the message, and it gave us vital information just in
time for us to avoid the mistakes that surely would have caused many more deaths.
You probably know who that person was.” His eyes scanned around the room, waiting
for a response. None came.

“A man who identified himself as Mavray Doushan told us what
we were about to face, and what we needed to do to improve our chances of survival.
All I did was tell my people to follow his advice. Midway orbital station, our intended
destination, had
not
heeded that same advice, and only eleven people survived
its total destruction the day before we arrived in the system. I think we owe many
lives to his warning. I for one would like to thank him.” Some of the faces looked
surprised, uncertain now.

“That collaborator is dead!” Another anonymous man’s voice shouted
out.

“His message told us that some of his fellow captives called
him a traitor,” conceded Mirikami. “Perhaps that might be true, and I don’t know
everything he may have done to offend or harm any of you here. Nevertheless, the
people from our ship, the Flight of Fancy, can state without question that his explicit
warning led to decisions by us that spared many of our lives. He even told us about
the tattoo I see that we all bear.” He had noted that everyone had a blank oval
like his own.

“The marking was first offered by the Krall to only a few members
of my crew, so they would be free to prepare for a Jump to come here,” he told them.
“But because of the slight protection Doushan told us it could provide, I asked
it for every single one of my passengers and crew.

“It wasn’t exactly free, it came with strings attached.” He looked
around the room, seeing distrust on many faces.

“It required that I promise good behavior on behalf of every
soul on the Flight of Fancy, on pain of death for me and one eighth of every person
on my ship if even
one person
violated that promise.” He again scanned the
room, now hanging on his words.

“As you can see, I clearly arrived here alive, as did those one
hundred random people the Krall would have killed. That apparently means all of
us on the ship must have ‘collaborated’ to stay alive.” Now he pointed a finger,
right arm extended, in a sweeping arc around the room.

 “Just as every last one of you here with markings like ours
also collaborated! It was a means to improve your chance of survival, not a sign
of cooperation with what the damned Krall have planned for the Human race and
us. I for one plan to fight back!”

“Hear, hear!” was shouted out by many of the Fancy’s people,
followed by swelling applause and cheers from members of the new arrivals. It lasted
for almost a minute until an obviously embarrassed Mirikami waved them down.

As it quieted, Dillon shouted out, “A lot of us owe our lives
to Captain Mirikami. His leadership has helped protect us at every opportunity.
Where are your leaders? Have
they
done as much for
you
?”

A voice from the top balcony shouted out, “They all died. Like
your Captain will die if he tries to lead this ungrateful rabble.”

There was a murmur from the long time captives as everyone turned
to look for the speaker. Mirikami caught a name repeated several times. “Colonel
Grease,” it sounded like they were saying.

“And who might you be, Gentle Sir?” Mirikami called back to a
man standing in isolation on the third tier balcony.

“I’m who those cowards are muttering about Captain. I’m Colonel
Thaddeus Greeves, formerly head of a Diplomatic Security detail from Poldark. I
was captured with Mr. Doushan on the same diplomatic courier. I’m now the sole survivor
of that group. We need to talk.”

There were eight sets of large elevators set equal distance around
the auditorium as they had decided to call the large assembly and dining area. Dillon
let the way, having used an elevator earlier. He stuck a fingertip into an unmarked
slot next to a wide closed door, and they waited a moment as movement could be heard.

Only Maggi and Dillon were selected by Mirikami to go with him.
It didn’t seem advisable to show distrust by bringing along many other people. They
were invited by Greeves to meet on the third level. The single elevator door opened
with startling speed, rising straight up to make a nine-foot high opening, and twice
that wide.

On a right side panel were the controls. The numbering system
was probably in Krall script, but Dillon said it worked much like a human system.
Small slots with some script next to each ran vertically in two parallel columns.
There were thirty-two such script-slot pairs. The slots were intended for a talon
tip, but he said also activated when a human fingertip was inserted.

Dillon, warning them to stand clear of the door, stuck a fingertip
into the third from the bottom left slot, triggering the two-piece door to slide
down swiftly. Then the elevator shot upwards so quickly that Maggi nearly slipped
to the floor. With a stomach lifting stop, the door swished opened almost immediately
on the third level.

Shooting a dagger eyed look at Dillon, Maggi let go of his arm,
which she had reflexively clutched to save herself from a dangerous fall to her
backside. She stepped out of the twenty foot wide elevator and looked back at him
with one eyebrow raised, clearly assessing him.

Stammering, Dillon said, “Uh…, I’m.., I’m sorry Maggi, and uh…Tet.
I forgot to warn you before I inserted my finger. It goes fast,” he ended lamely.

“Humph,” was Maggi’s only reply. From that simple sound, Dillon
knew with certainty from personal experience that some sort of embarrassing verbal
dart laid in his future for that little omission.

Mirikami had been no better prepared, but his knees happened
to be straight when it shot up, so he was spared the indignity of having to grab
onto anything to stay standing, or perhaps even falling painfully on his butt. All
he said in response to Dillon’s apology was, “Typical Krall speed and efficiency.
No wonder they didn’t like our lifts.”

Colonel Greeves was waiting for them. He was as tall as Dillon
was, but stockier. He had short black-to-graying hair, which in modern society was
rare, since the human genes that had lengthened life and vitality had eliminated
most gray hair. It didn’t often appear until very late in life after about a hundred
thirty or forty. Yet Greeves looked in good health, and extremely vital. Sun tanned
with rugged features, he wasn’t classically handsome like Dillon, but probably turned
the heads of many a gene shopping Lady.

He was also armed, very heavily armed. There were a pair of Krall
made pistols in holsters slung low at his hips, two human made projectile pistols
under his arms in holsters, and what looked like a Jazzer clipped to an ammo belt
across his chest that also held multiple ammo clips. He had a short rifle slung
over his back, which looked like a modified Krall weapon. In addition, a machete
handle protruded from a pouch behind his left shoulder. There was a large sheathed
hunting knife strapped to the outside his lower right leg.

Mirikami shook hands and introduced his two companions. “Colonel,
I would like to present the gracious Lady, Doctor Margret Fisher, and Doctor Dillon
Martin.”

Greeves, rather than following the social niceties of a hand
kiss with a Lady, simply offered his hand to Maggi to be shaken. It was a courteous
and firm shake with Mirikami, gentle with Maggi, and bone crushing with Dillon.

Dillon was surprised, after seeing the other two perfunctory
handshakes, but responded in kind. He didn’t have Greeves’ Koban adapted grip, but
was satisfied to see a return look of surprise.

“Doctors’ you say.” He had a rich resonate voice, with a provincial
accent that sounded similar to what they had heard in Doushan’s recording. Poldark
was a New Colony, but considered more backwoods than most New Colony worlds, having
been settled just a decade before the Collapse.

“I heard that the majority of you new arrivals claimed to be
biologists. My dear Lady you might fit that description, but Mr. Dillon here does
not. It’s a strange collection of people for the Krall to find at the outskirts
of civilization.” He wasn’t actually saying he didn’t believe them, but his skepticism
was apparent.