William Forstchen - Article 23

"Matt, you can't blame him for that one."

"Yeah, I know, I was out of line."

Justin forced a smile.

"Hit the head, cool off and let's see if we can settle this when you come back."

"Yeah, sure, Justin. Thanks, buddy. I might of slugged the guy if it hadn't been for you."

Justin smiled and went back into the room.

"You can't lump them all together like that," Pradeep was saying.

"They allow it to be said in their midst. Without our support on Earth the colonies would all die within the year. It's about time they realized that and got off their high horses. I know what I've heard and I think that when you look at an offworlder, you're looking at an ungrateful traitor."

"Wait a minute, Wendell," Justin said. "Didn't you hear Thorsson? He won't tolerate that kind of talk around here. If we reported this conversation to his office your butt would be in the wringer."

"Are you going to go squealing?" Colson asked, a mocking tone in his voice.

"No, of course not."

"And what about you, Uncle?" Colson asked, looking at the computer.

"You know that would be a violation of the law," Uncle replied, his voice sounding cool and distant. "Computers may not report conversations without a specific court order, which is issued only when a felony is under investigation."

"Well, right there you have it," Colson said. "Everyone's too soft. Those people out there are plotting rebellion. One of my family's construction sites was threatened with seizure by some damn radicals, and we can't even use a stupid computer to help get the evidence!"

Justin looked over at Uncle as if to apologize. Even though Uncle was a machine, somehow Justin felt that he did indeed have feelings, and to call him stupid was an insult to something that could not fight back.

"So is that the real reason here?' Pradeep asked. "It's not policy, but rather it's your family's construction sites on Mars? Sites they control from Earth and which are little better than factory towns right out of the 19th century, where they even charge double the going rate for air rations?"

"We have a right to make money and they don't have a right to try and stop us. All this rubbish about 'local control' is nothing but double-talk for theft by traitors. I've yet to meet an offworlder you could trust."

"Then, if so," Justin asked, "why are you here?"

Colson sniffed. "Family tradition. Do my bit with the Service, then move up to take over the business, if there's still a business around in ten years."

Matt came into the room and Wendell stiffened.

"It's finished right here," Pradeep announced before Matt could say a word. " Thorsson was right, we have to treat each other like comrades. There are too many other strikes against us plebes as it is without you two going for each other's throats."

Matt nodded, and ever so slowly extended his hand.

"Look, I'm sorry about accusing you of being responsible for my parent's deaths. OK?"

Golson smiled, but it wasn't a friendly look. To Justin it seemed as if Wendell fully expected Matt to simply bow down and submit. Colson limply took Mart's hand and then quickly dropped it. Turning his back, he went to work on arranging his bunk.

An icy silence descended on the room. Justin could sense that the basic good-natured aspect within Matt wanted to somehow patch things up, but the way Colson had taken his hand without comment and then turned away had left him confused as to what to do next. The silence was strange to Justin, for usually Matt was a non-stop talker, ready to fill any conversational gap with a funny story or tall tale about solar sailing.

"Gentlemen, ten minutes to chow," Uncle finally interrupted.

Grateful for the opportunity to break off the silent confrontation, Justin looked over at the holo screen and nodded an acknowledgment. During the summer session he had come to regard Uncle as a friend, and once more he wondered about the machine. Uncle had heard every word of the conversation the machine heard and knew everything that happened aboard ship. Yet he was programmed with a very selective memory as prescribed by law. No conversation or action observed by him could ever be repeated except in the case of a class-one felony, and even then the programming block could only be lifted by the unanimous decision of a three-judge panel.

Justin wondered again if Uncle had personal likes and dislikes. He felt as if the machine actually did like him and looked out for him whenever possible. He knew that was illogical, for Uncle, after all, was a machine, yet the way he had so casually interrupted them, thus breaking off the confrontation, was interesting.

"Company A, fall out for chow!" Seay's voiee echoed down the hall. Justin double-checked his bed and locker to make sure they were ready for room inspection after dinner.

"One final thing," Colson suddenly announced.

Justin looked over at Colson, who had finished stowing his gear in his locker. Colson stepped around Justin and stopped in front of Matt.

"I don't want to hear you spreading stories about my family. I'll try to ignore your less-than-desirable political beliefs and," he hesitated for a moment then smiled, "the support of them that I just heard you announce out in the hallway. But I'll remember what you said, and if you cross me on anything I'll turn you in."

"What kind of threat is that?" Justin snapped.

"A promise. There are other cadets who still have the guts to stand up to traitors, and when the time comes we'll be ready."

Without another word he stalked out of the room.

Justin looked over at Matt, expecting an explosion. But the old Matt was back. Shaking his head, Matt broke into a grin.

"A jerk, buddy, a class-A jerk, and that's no mistake!"

"A dangerous jerk," Pradeep added quietly.

"Come on now, son, you can do better than that!"

Rubbing his backside, Matt struggled back up to his feet, breathing hard under the stress of nearly one-and-a-half gees. Chief Petty Officer Kevin Malady, their close-in combat instructor, stood balanced on the balls of his feet looking as if he were poised to jump straight up and turn a quick somersault. Malady took the knife he had snatched from Matt's hand and tossed it to the side of the practice circle, motioning for Matt to rejoin the group..

Malady scanned the group and nodded towards Justin.

"All right, son, you're next."

Justin tried to ignore the snickers of some of his fellow cadets as he stepped up to the edge of the fighting circle.

"So, son, what weapon will it be?"

Justin looked down at the assortment of deadly instruments laid out on the floor. There were several wicked looking knives, a plain old baseball bat with the charming touch of a few spikes driven through it, a fire ax, and a strange-looking device made up of a section of steel pipe topped by a two-foot section of wire with a lead ball tied to the end.

"Care to try the mace, Mr. Bell?" Malady asked.

Justin looked down at the weapon. Maybe in low, even standard gravity, but out here on the exercise pylon, which extended a hundred and fifty meters out from the main hull of the ship, he wasn't sure how well he could handle it.

He shook his head.

"Good decision, Bell. The mace seems to be popular with certain punks who prowl the tougher sections of the Moon's mining camps. Can be deadly in low gravity, but here you just might wind up wrapping it around your head."

Justin finally settled on the baseball bat. He hefted it up as he stepped into the circle. At least at home he had had a little experience with a bat, though usually when it came to a pickup game the other players tended to relegate him to right field and pray nothing would come his way.

Justin clenched the bat and raised it as if facing a pitcher.