Brute Orbits by George Zebrowski Read Free Book Online

the barracks and gazed out over the muddy countryside. Here and there the brown soil was showing a growth of grass. Men were strewn everywhere, now that the barracks were done—lounging, exercising, even playing ball.
    Beyond the small town of barracks, he saw the patch of crosses and grave markers. It had been inevitable. Remove the guards, and all outstanding scores would be settled. It was the beginning of lawful behavior. Make no new enemies after you have eliminated the old.
    He wondered how long that would last. Not long. Whatever law crept in here would have to be of his making, or he would find himself subject to arrangements he might despise.
    These men needed something to live for, at least for the next few months; and only a leader could give them that. Not just anyone professing to lead, but someone who could say convincing things to them.
    He was that man. If not, he would fail; it was as simple as that.
    How to go about it? There was no way to speak to all four thousand men at once. He would visit each mess hall for a week and reach every man; word of mouth would also help.
    Now what was he going to say?
    ■
    He started in the mess hall where at least two people knew him; it would be better to get that out of the way first.
    When the men were nearly finished eating, he stood up on his table, raised his arms, and waited to be noticed.
    “Men! I have a few words to say to you!”
    Polau looked up from his plate and said, “Well, well, what have we here? The sleepwalker!” and laughed derisively.
    “You all know,” Tasarov continued, “what has been done to us, and what we have done to ourselves in the last few days. By killing each other, we are finishing the work that Earth’s authorities were unwilling to do themselves!” He paused, then said, “Are all the old grudges settled now? Who still wishes to kill his enemy?”
    He did not expect an answer, but he saw that Polau was watching him carefully, waiting for his chance.
    “We must get a hold of ourselves, before we end up hunting each other in this desert…”
    Polau stood up and said, “Who do you think you are?”
    Tasarov knew Polau—the resentful type who had never gotten past taking guff from bullies and working hard to be one himself.
    But Polau knew what to say—he could smell what was coming. There were too many others like him to ignore. So he had to get past him quickly.
    “So you’re going to lead us!” Polau shouted, stabbing to the heart of the matter. “Where can you lead us? What can you or any of us do?”
    Tasarov smiled to himself at the little thief s shrewdness. His intellect was minor, but his savvy was sharp—instinctive rather than self aware; dangerous, because it could lead to unexpected acts.
    “First let me introduce myself. My real name is Yevgeny Tasarov. Some of you may know about me from the Dannemora break of some years ago.”
    Polau’s face went pale, but he recovered quickly. “Oh, yeah? So you say. Anyone can say it, but can you prove it.”
    “There was a glitch in the timing of my mindwipe,” Tasarov said quietly, “but I have come back to myself. That’s why you haven’t heard from me until now, and that’s why I’m here. I was not myself, and unable to prevent it!”
    The laughter was genuine, full of bitterness and relief, and Tasarov knew that he had their attention. In the next moment, he would tell them what they could do about their plight, enough to hold them together, at the very least, in reserve for greater efforts. If greater efforts were possible, he told himself, but that waited to be explored.
    As the laughter died away, Tasarov waited for Polau to repeat himself.
    On cue, the little thief said, “I repeat, what can you or any of us do?” He leered at him, as if saying, okay big man, I’ve got you now because there’s no answer to that one.
    Tasarov told them—and they liked it.
    Even Polau liked it, but he didn’t like liking it.
    ■
    Over the next few days Tasarov