Many of the dorm's women, who were certain that Tara was trying to steal their husbands, only emphasized this attitude.
So Ron swallowed his frustration, and tried to pretend he was satisfied to keep their relationship platonic.
On the plus side, however, Ron was becoming an excellent shot with the hand laser. They had tried to devise tactics for what Ron called their "sniper" function. He and Tara would always seek "high ground"; in dorms, they would climb onto upper bunks. In mess rooms, they would try to get on top of or behind the delivery machinery, or even onto tabletops. In corridors, they would seek hatches, or any other raised surface. In any case, they would then look over the heads of the crowd of fighters, seeking those carrying lasers, blasters, or stunners. Then they were to kill them.
Raymond continually reminded them that they had only eight shots each. They could not afford to be drawn into a "gunfight" with a laser- or blaster-armed opponent. He insisted they concentrate on body or head shots, and not try for disabling wounds. Ron was forced to agree.
Tara simply nodded grimly. She had traded some of her beer ration to a man in Dorm 8 who had used a leather money belt to bring his credits aboard. She had cut the belt down to fit her, and modified her knife's sheath to mount it along the belt rather than hanging from it. She never left her bunk group without her knife and was taking VR knife fighting lessons. Ron noticed that she was now standing straighter and walking taller. She was no longer a victim, and Ron had no doubt she would kill if necessary to keep from ever becoming one again.
One evening Cesar, Ron, Vlad and Raymond were complaining about the fact that their largest problems seemed to stem from the colonists' enforced idleness.
Vlad chuckled. "My mother had a solution for that. Whenever she got bored, which was about once a week, she'd go off to the Bingo parlor for a night of Bingo.
Raymond looked puzzled. "What is this 'Bingo'?"
Vlad shrugged. "It’s a game of chance, played in large groups. Actually, each game usually lasts less than half an hour, so a 'night of Bingo' usually consisted of a number of games.
"Basically," he continued, "each player buys a tablet card image for a small amount. At the top of the 'card' are five columns, each headed by a letter of the word 'Bingo.' Beneath the word are five rows of numbers, making a 5X5 matrix, and all the numbers are in random positions. If I remember correctly, there were 75 numbers available. Each 'card' is different, of course. In addition to the cards, each player has some way of indicating which called numbers appear on his 'card'.
"The leader is called the 'caller,' and his tablet has a random number generator. He calls off each number, and the players indicate it on their 'cards'. If the numbers called match all of the numbers in one of the rows, columns, or diagonals on his 'card', the player wins. The numbers are verified, and they usually win a small prize."
A smile rose on Raymond's face. He had turned out to be a real entrepreneur. Early on, he realized that beer was an unsatisfactory medium of exchange. Storage was a problem. Besides, it did not divide easily, and therefore did not allow for fractional purchases. After giving it some thought, he had begun by going from dorm to dorm on both colonist decks, "buying" everyone's EarthGov credits for beer bulbs. Since the worthlessness of EarthGov currency was now well established, he found many takers. This led to setting up trading contacts with the other dorms. In Dorm 4, for example, there was a man who was skilled in hydroponics, and who, with help from the ship's crew, had managed to set up a small vegetable garden in a storeroom to which he had been given access. The ship had a large hydroponics establishment, of course, but this man was raising foods not available from the Ship's supply. Ron was happy to trade him beer for fresh vegetables. Residents of several other dorms had also come up with imaginative projects, and Raymond's trading was becoming very successful.
Raymond grilled Vlad for details of the "Bingo" game. Within a week, he had a Bingo game up and running in the messroom. Raymond made a deal with Robert Franks to write him a pair of small tablet programs. The one for the "customers" required a code to activate for each game. The other was Raymond's own "caller" program.
Customers would "buy in" with a bulb of beer, receiving ten EarthGov credits. With these, they could purchase virtual "cards," activated by Raymond, which appeared on their own tablet. Each "card" cost one credit, and could only be used for the current game. A random-number generator embedded in Raymond's "caller" program selected the letter and number combinations to be "drawn," which then highlighted on the customer's virtual card. The prize for a "Bingo" was, of course, a bulb of beer. Within two weeks, the mess room was always nearly full for "Bingo Night."
Following one of the successful Bingo nights, Raymond was carrying a double armload of beer bulbs to the small storage room he had found and secured with his locker's lock.
Suddenly, four of the Dorm 8 thugs appeared from an intersecting corridor. Sensing trouble, Raymond dropped the beer, but he was too late. The leader of the thugs swung a kick at Raymond's crotch that doubled him over with agony.
The thug grabbed Raymond by the hair. "Ya shoulda give us our share, Bozo!" Pain flared from a flurry of kicks and blows until, mercifully, blackness fell.
Raymond was taken to the med bay with a fractured arm, three broken ribs, and numerous cuts and scratches. One eye eventually swelled shut.
After six hours in a regeneration chamber, Raymond's physical wounds were mostly healed, but the med tech had warned him not to get into any fights for a few days, at least until the swelling subsided.
When he returned to the dorm, he found the entire militia armed, assembled, and building up to an invasion of Dorm 8.
Raymond shook his head. He had not wasted his time in the med bay. He had been thinking, and thinking hard. "No," he said. "I have some things to do before I tackle those fools. Besides, the med techs told me not to get in any fights for a few days. So go rack your weapons, and relax for awhile. Don't worry, they
will
regret their actions!"
After restoring calm among the militia, Raymond stomped off angrily to talk to Cesar Montero.
"Raymond!" Said Cesar. "Are you all right?"
Raymond waved dismissively. "I'm fine, Cesar, but we have to talk. It's time you stopped putting off the inevitable."
Cesar Montero's face went blank. "I don't know what you mean," he said evenly.
Raymond waved again. "Of course you do. You've been making excuses for months to avoid having to take responsibility for those people next door. You know that those six fools they call 'Elders' haven't had an original thought between them in years. The stupid opinions they had as young men have hardened with their arteries, and now they think it's wisdom. But ever since Ron bought out Rafael and Paco, even
they
have been constantly hinting about joining the dorms, and they know that would mean having you in charge.
"You know very well that those street toughs have been running things over there, terrorizing the people, but not governing them.
"Now those bully boys have made a mistake. The med techs told me no fighting for three days. But in four days, they will learn about their mistake." He shrugged. "But if I get rid of the only group that even resembles leadership, I have a responsibility to make sure there is leadership ready to take over. And that's
you
."
Cesar shook his head. "Raymond, I can't just take over another dorm. I
won't.
"
Raymond slammed a hand on the mess room table they'd been using. "We're not talking about taking over!" he said. "We're talking about allowing them to join us. What more proof do you need, when even their so-called leaders are practically begging?"
But Cesar looked stubborn. "No," he replied, "Right now all they want is to be rid of that gang, and they're so desperate they'll promise anything to anyone they think can manage that. No," he continued, "I have to know that they really
want
to join us. I will lead the willing, but I will not rule the unwilling."
Raymond rolled his eyes in frustration. "And what will it take to convince you?”
Cesar sighed. "All right, Raymond, I know you want this. I also know they cannot hold a vote as long as that gang is there. I will accept the assurances of the elders that more than half of the residents want to merge. But I will insist that they must have actually talked to the people and gotten votes from them. They can stop polling when the total reaches more than half in favor, but I insist that more than half agree to join us, and that once you have got rid of the gang, the elders announce the results in a public meeting."
Raymond scowled, but then, suddenly the scowl faded to a bright grin. "Ha!" he said. "You are right as usual, Wise One. This is the time to set conditions. Once they agree to them, you will have the authority to enforce them.
That
I can work with!"
They talked for another half hour, devising the conditions under which Dorms 7 and 8 would become one.
The residents of dorm 8 were not from the same Philippine ghetto as those in dorm 7. In fact, they were from the city of Cebu, on a different island, and had an entirely different language. Instead of Tagalog, the language of most of the island of Luzon, they spoke Cebuano, a variant of Bisayan. Of course they all spoke English, United Earth's official language, though with varying levels of proficiency. Cesar was well aware that many of the Drone dorms had their own languages, and he realized that if, no,
when
they found a planet and started a colony, the language used was certain to be English. So he was trying to make English the official language of Dorm 7. By speaking only English himself and flying into an apparent rage whenever he heard Tagalog, he was having some success.
But Raymond expected, and had, no problem. All six of the old men he found huddled in a corner of the mess room were fluent English-speakers. They were nearly always to be found there, hoping to avoid the attention of the gang that taunted and jeered them.
When Raymond approached, several of them reddened or flinched in guilty resignation. The eldest, Reynaldo Pereira, started to stammer apologies, but Raymond waved him to silence.
"I have come to talk to you, old ones," Raymond said with a slight bow. He indicated his bruised face. "This I will take care if in my own time and my own way. But we cannot leave anarchy behind so close to our dorm. Forgive me, old ones, but I do not believe your people will follow you now."
Pereira flushed, but sighed and nodded. "You are correct, Raymond. We have failed them. That is why we had hoped we could join with Dorm 7." He indicated with a wave that Raymond should join them.
Raymond pointedly took the seat at the head of the table, which all of the six old men had avoided. "I have talked with Cesar Montero," he said. "And that may be possible. But Cesar will lead only those who wish to follow him."
Pereira brightened. "But, this is wonderful news! We have been hinting at that for weeks!"
Raymond shook his head solemnly. "Not so fast, and not so easily. Cesar has agreed to the merger, but there are conditions."
Pereira's brow furrowed. "Conditions?"
Raymond nodded. "Yes, and I would like all of you to note them down in your tablets. Cesar wants to make certain everything is completely clear to everyone in the dorm.
"You will have to be able to assure him that everyone in the dorm knows about the merger, and that the majority of the residents approve of it. You must also make them aware of these other conditions:
"First, the only language used in the blended dorm will be English. No Tagalog, no Cebuano, no Bisayan. With 25 dorms aboard, there are dozens of languages being used. When we establish the colony, though, English will be the only language
everyone
will understand. Cesar wants to make sure that our people will be able to be full partners in the colony, and one way to do that is to make sure that all of them are fluent in English.
"Second, you must scour the dorm for those who can serve as teachers in the training room. Cesar believes that our people can only be full partners if they are educated and skilled. We will require a schedule of classes to be prepared within a reasonable time after merging.
"Third, we will levy a 'tax' of one beer bulb per month on each resident. This will pay the salary of a Deputy Sheriff who will protect and serve the people of the dorm, as I do on our side. This person will have to be one of mine, since none of your people is skilled enough or tough enough.
"Finally, we will also establish a militia on this side, to join with the one in Dorm 7." He held up a hand to forestall an interruption from Reynaldo Pereira. "Ron Creding will ask the Captain to provide batons for them. But we anticipate that before we find a planet, we will need a militia to defend our people from the criminals and revolutionaries among the Undies.
"Those are Cesar's conditions for the merger. We don't care how you do it, but you will have to get this information to your people, and get their votes. I realize that you can't simply call a meeting as long as that gang is there, but you are wise men. I'm sure you will find a way to do it before Tuesday."
Perreira jumped to his feet, his face angry. "Tuesday! Impossible! You expect us to talk to nearly two hundred people in three days? Besides," he continued with a thunderous scowl, "I'm not certain our people will agree. I'm not sure
I
agree to all that! English? Foolishness! Some of our people haven't even
heard
English in years!"
Raymond shrugged. "They'll be hearing it now. Our own people are no happier than yours about having to take English classes again. But they understand the need if our people are to be full partners in this colony and not just peasants and beasts of burden. Cesar insists that our people must not be at the mercy of translation devices that will inevitably fail. Besides, I understand that total immersion is an excellent way to learn a language.