The decree of exile was not so much unpopular with our general group as it was repressive. We are very social folk. Unlike you, we would prefer being packed into a small space together than separated too much. Further, we had formed a group identity. Except for the Ascension and a few previous pairings like myself and Ampersand, we adults had stepped into the ship as random individuals but by now were definitely a community not only of species and alien origin but and the bonds of survivorhood. And one of us had been separated. Among the kits, who had been in physical contact from birth until very recently and were a generational community unto themselves, the loss of Question hit even harder.
Furthermore At, in addition to being well-liked, had been a leader at the practical, material level of our colony: in many ways the architect of our living environment and adapted way of life. We missed him for reasons other than his personality and suffered for the lack of his abilities. There was bitter griping about his separation at first. A group had gathered to address their concerns with Greater Than, who was much less than receptive.
“How can you exile any one of us,” Underscore asked him in aggrieved tones. “We are every one of us exiles here.”
“You are,” Greater Than replied flatly.
Those two words derailed even that heated topic for a moment. “We are?” Euro demanded. “Is that what we are, why we’re here?”
“You’re all discards,” Greater Than replied in a voice that attempted to forestall further comment. “Useless.”
An uproar replied to that, but I ignored the din, thinking: it wasn’t the first time this question had crossed my mind. I kept thinking of Quote, the other functionary who might have some vague notion of why we were stranded here, and his reactions at various times since our landfall. He was too military to respond to questioning, and Greater Than, of course, geometrically less probable source of a straight answer. I wished we could pool our scraps of knowledge on the matter. Why? Why us? What do we have in common?
Meanwhile, the conversation around the firepit, if you want to dignify the yelping and growls by that term, had moved on a bit, perhaps to more productive questions. The main one being hammered at by Dollar, Tilde, and Strikeout was getting around to being a call for a justice system, if not a government. I could only marvel that it had taken so long, and such drastic events, to come up.
“It’s ridiculous,” Strikeout was shrilling. “Our only authority is this oaf who no longer represents any Stand, as if they had any standing here anyway, and an officer of a skycraft that no longer exists. Are we a pack of animals here? Without the ability to govern ourselves?”
“I don’t know about govern, but we need to have some sense of justice,” Euro followed up in his smooth, convincing tones, “We need to be accountable to something other than our own sense of right.”
“What else is there to account for?” Underscore rumbled predictably. “Justice speaks from inside of us, from our very roots. Show me a system that has been more true than our own spirit.” Easy for him to say: virtual ruler of his own flock, which rejected the Stand’s legitimacy and found the rejection to be heartily mutual.
Star had been watching, her fire on a barely controlled simmer, but she exploded at that point, “What to account for? Are you serious? We just lost one of most valuable citizens because of one individual’s threat of violence! Think about that! Is that who we are here? Whoever has the most force can do whatever they want?”
I was surprised that she was seconded by GlideGirl, generally a soft-spoken, gentle beauty with little show of initiative. She said, “Star’s right, you know. Isn’t that what the Stand is supposed to be about in the first place? Sorting things out among all of us so there won’t be violence and stealing and… you know, trouble?”
And once again Tilde’s quiet, firm understatement rang down with the undeniable weight of good sense. “It’s pretty obvious we have two choices.” Then she waited, drew attention with perfect timing before continuing, “We can either set up our own Stand, right here, or we can decide on our own form of communal authority.”
“Or,” Ampersand put in with his usual dry delivery, “We can all choose whatever behavior suits us and tear each other to pieces whenever it seems fitting.”
There was a silence after that, everyone ringing the fire in concentric rings, heavily aware that a moment was upon us all, kits staring around the circles to weight the possible effects of what was happening. I think we can count on the Younger to take the side of anarchy, I thought. And the Ascension to reject any authority of other over themselves.
As if her heard me think and wished to make me a liar, Underscore took a step forward, heightening the dramatic play of firelight on his sturdy chest and craggy features, and said, “That’s what we need. Mutually agreed-upon authority that unites us all against wrong actions.”
I wasn’t the only one shocked by that. Dollar’s eyes widened and nostrils dilated in amazement as he addressed one of his only non-sarcastic comments to Underscore, “You’d accept communal authority over your group?”
“They aren’t ‘mine’ at all,” he responded. “I try to serve each one who follows the higher paths. And we are by no means opposed to laws and social order. All we ask is that all beliefs be respected and any group that can abide by that without the tyranny we faced before would have our support.”
Little Stroke, decidedly not our most intelligent or involved comrade, blurted out, “We’re all stuck here together, we all need to help and love each other, that’s all.”
That brought smiles, and they were kindly ones, not the usual smirks at Stroke’s misadventures and misconstructions. Then came the voice I’d been waiting to hear.
“I think everybody here has said something true and important. We need to build a society here, not just a pile of goods and shelters. And I don’t think we have any choice but to make it ourselves, from what we find at hand, just like we built the physical form of this colony.”
Semi bobbed her head emphatically, her ears upright and waving. “He’s right. And he’s the closest thing we have to Stand authority here. We need to choose who can do this, and agree on some rules.”
Point smiled at her fondly and quietly said, “Let me suggest this: we all think about this for awhile. Let’s set a date to discuss it more formally, entertain suggestions from everybody when nobody is upset or angry. Four nights from now, perhaps?”
“That sounds wise to me,” Dollar said quickly. “We could meet here on the fourth day, no meals to distract us, and hear suggestions and start making these decisions.”
“Let everyone prepare their thoughts and suggestions,” Underscore nodded ponderously.
“Does everybody agree with that?” Tilde looked around, taking a census of eyes. There was no demur.
Then Greater Than said, “Talk some more. Talk your buttocks off until you go blind.” He stood and walked away from the group, in the opposite direction from where At had gone. Dash was behind and beside him immediately.
“I hope you’ll come and add your thoughts,” Point said loudly as they walked off.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it,” our former warder called back over his shoulder, then he, too, was gone into the night.