This newcomer was unlike anyone he had met in his life and he had no idea how he fitted into the local hierarchy. He didn’t behave or look anything like a refugee or a Skidian, and he had three dogs with him, who were now scampering around the floor.
In the moments before he opened his mouth to speak, Mahmoud reflected on why he had decided to deal with a trafficker to get him and his family into Europe. He wanted a better opportunity than their small village could ever offer to bring up his kids. It was also about security, living without fear of being the victim of a mindless act of violence.
Their new home on Skid was beyond their wildest dreams: they had food literally on tap, and now he and his kids had explored the functionality of the Books, they knew that they would want for nothing. All their material needs were catered for, and the house was littered with toys and devices conjured up by his children and mysteriously delivered.
There were still a few things beyond reach. He couldn’t contact anyone from the outside world. He could still pray with his son and visitors to their home, but they could never organise joint worship with others of his faith. Every branch of the faith he had ever heard of was represented in their new community, and they all had the same problem. They weren’t alone. One of new migrants who lived close by was a Christian, who reported the same frustration of having no place to worship with like-minded people.
The challenges related to observing his religion aside, Mahmoud was desperately searching for a sense of purpose. Others in his community were now content to spend their time wandering around the neighbourhood chatting to their neighbours, drinking copious amounts of what passed for coffee here, and smoking the local tobacco. Mahmoud wasn’t planning to settle for this kind of existence if he could avoid it. He hadn’t uprooted his family and begun the dangerous trip to Europe, and all the uncertainty associated with the journey, just to sit around and do nothing with the rest of his life.
The only other entertainment available was television shows and streamed video. In Mahmoud’s opinion, far too many people, the women especially, spent more time than they should watching soap operas from home. It was interesting though: no matter whose house he went into these days, there was at least one television playing a show in their native tongue. No matter what language the people spoke, the stories were the same. The over-dramatization of life where nobody worked or did anything useful with themselves except to have intense, destructive relationships with each other.
He understood that these shows were a form of escapism, a release from day to day tedium of reality, but too many of the people who watched them believed they portrayed real life. What troubled him the most was that these shows placed more emphasis on material well-being and fragile relationships, and he was sure they would eventually undermine his culture and religion, filling the void left by their inability to worship and share the joys of their beliefs.
Mahmoud had raised the possibility with his neighbours and his family of banning the shows, but his suggestion had been ignored. He could order his wife not to watch the shows, but once he had left the house to ramble through the streets of the vast city, he knew she would simply turn the television back on.
It deeply disturbed him how so many people, some of whom he had known his entire life, could drift away from practising their religion and the body of teachings and precedent they had lived their entire lives by. Even his wife had shown signs of rebellion and he didn’t know how to respond without beating her. She had stopped wearing a hijab and discarded the robes she normally wore in public for more western styled attire. They had had a blazing row when she had informed him she was no longer going to cover her head in public. He thought he'd won the argument, but when she went out of the house the next day without a hijab and in her house clothes, followed by his similarly-attired daughter, he felt powerless to stop them. His universe had been tipped upside down and the beliefs of a lifetime were being called into question. While he was forced to admit his wife looked attractive without the coverings, he struggled to process the change.
After these confrontations, he had spent more time alone exploring the vast, mostly empty city, and in doing so became aware of the diverse groups of people living in and around it.
He found groups of migrants and economic refugees from Northern Africa and parts of the Middle East, many of whom had been living in camps on the European mainland for months, or years, in the case of some. He also came across westerners, some of whom were just as angry and confused with their circumstances as he was. They all belonged to the MFY organisation and they had signed up to go to the moon or Mars.
But overall, most people he met were happy with their lot and were just beginning to mingle with each other. Maybe this was where his wife had got the idea to stop wearing her hijab in public.
There was another group he encountered who remained aloof and were not inclined to associate with anyone outside their group, he’d never met anyone like them before. These were the people called indoSkidians, who were the local inhabitants and Mahmoud thought they must know where the government or administration centre of this place was. At that point, he still believed he was incarcerated in an offshore processing centre on earth. Mahmoud simply couldn’t comprehend how he could be on a planet on the other side of the galaxy, as his Book explained patiently each time he asked.
There were also whispers about another group of people who lived in a mystical paradise outside the city, but he thought this was nonsense.
One day he had come across the vast space port complex in the centre of the city and discovered it was part of a much larger administrative centre. It was here he finally admitted to himself that he might be on an alien planet. The aircraft looked remarkably like the alien space craft on the covers of the science fiction books he read as a child.
That was when he also discovered the Senate. His Book had been quite detailed about what he could and couldn’t do in the Senate. He was welcome to attend and listen to the debates, and he was also permitted to speak, but he would not be allowed to vote until he was a member. He also didn’t have to be elected which sounded a lot like the authoritarian government he was used to.
So, he now spent his days in the senate, having long since met the voting requirements. More than once he had tried in vain to join various debates, especially the ones related to immigration. He could understand the fears of the natives, the ones who had been here the longest. But he was never allowed to explain that he and most of the people he knew had never expected to end up on Skid, and simply wanted to continue their journey in search of a better life.
Away from the senate, most of the natives were fair and reasonable and talking to them Mahmoud discovered they were as unsettled as he was and weren’t necessarily against inward migration. Being naturally conservative and wary of change, they were just concerned how the sudden influx of offworlders, the term they used for all the new migrants, would impact on their way of life.
However, not everyone felt the same. The speaker from Didenud was one of these. Mahmoud decided Senator Niur sounded like one the dangerous, autocratic zealots from back home. The type of politician or religious leader who was responsible for the complete breakdown of law and order in his country, a failed state, a desolate battleground which local warlords and religious sects fought over continuously.
Mahmoud was sympathetic to the Skidians given his own recent experiences. He had rejoiced at the end of the increasingly repressive former regime but then despaired as his country descended into chaos. The Americans and the British who had supported the overthrow of the old regime had shown themselves incapable of helping to stabilise the country, because they had backed leaders who didn't have widespread support.
Now he sensed an opportunity. He had chaffed at his inability to contribute and get recognition for all the migrants to this new land. While he realised he didn’t represent the views of everyone, and most of the Senators would probably ignore him, he was determined to at least be heard and hopefull
y something would come of it.
Indeed, now he had stood the senators started to talk among themselves. The only people who made a pretence of listening were the Chief Mati, sitting at the bench at the front of the auditorium, and the newcomer. Oddly, Mahmoud got the funny feeling one of the dogs was also listening and mocking him at the same time.
“We have been brought here against our will,” Mahmoud began, “and we demand we be returned home.” He frowned. This hadn’t come out quite how he intended.
“But you left your home in search of new opportunities, security for your family and freedom from oppression,” the new arrival replied.
The murmur of many different conversations dwindled and stopped. It was so silent in the auditorium Mahmoud sensed he would have been able to hear a pin drop. This newcomer had broken standing orders even Mahmoud understood. He paused, waiting for the Chief Mati to put the newcomer in his place.
“Why would you want to return to your village? It’s in the middle of a war zone,” the man persisted.
At least that’s what Mahmoud thought he said. He had a good command of the English language, but he had never heard a strangled accent like this man’s before and he was struggling with it.
“We were going to Europe. We have family in Belgium who would take us in. We were to meet them there eventually.”
“Why did you want to go there?” Bruce asked. He got annoyed by the way the these newSkidians believed the world owed them a living.
“For a better life for myself and better opportunities for my children. Religious freedom.”
“You can have all of those here. Much better opportunities for your children, at any rate.”
Mahmoud was a little confused. There was a lot of truth in what the man was saying. He sat and considered what he had just heard. If this was true, then he should be pushing his agenda of more rights for newSkidians and greater participation in government, instead of complaining and asking to be sent on his way. His cousin in Belgium had made all the right noises when Mahmoud and his wife Razia had said they were coming. However, Mahmoud wasn’t sure what his reception would be once they'd actually made the trip.
His chance was gone. One of the other members had risen to his feet and started to speak. While he listed to the rambling speech and tried to make sense of it, Mahmoud realised he had not once heard any bill or any form of legislation discussed in these sessions. All anyone ever did was talk. So where was the real decision-making being done?
Bruce had made Lake his first port of call as a courtesy, and to get his view of the world. He still felt a little guilty - though he would never come out and say so – that he hadn’t spent enough time with Lake. Lake was a reluctant leader, and Bruce had promised to support him, a promise he had kicked into touch when the Transcendents had started the upload of refugees and MFYers behind his back.
He didn’t envy Lake his job, governing a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic society which most people didn’t want to be part of, with a minority who believed the newcomers should all go home. Though, as he had suggested to Mahmoud, if the newSkidians who were complaining about ending up on Skid gave it a chance, they might discover they enjoyed the place. It should tick most of their boxes for a better life and better security.
Ultimately Bruce conceded he would never really appreciate how the newSkidians felt about the situation. He didn’t have a lot of sympathy for them. Bruce had been kidnapped and carted off to Skid against his will and unlike the majority of the newSkidians, he hadn’t been seeking a new life or seeking the adventure of space travel. He had been going about his business in the middle of nowhere. Eventually, he got over the resentment he felt and built himself a new life on Skid because, he liked to think, he was resilient and resourceful. He believed there was no point in whinging about it forever. It might even have been tougher for him since he had arrived alone, he and Sue had taken a while to gel, he never really got to know her properly, and she had turned into a completely different person once they had married. At least most of the newSkidians had a support group of some form around them, whether it be family members, people from the same village, or other MFY team members with a common goal.
He chose to ignore his other great advantage - he got to go home every night.
“OK. Now I’m here,” Bruce began, sitting beside Lake.
Punch rested his big head on Bruce’s knee, drooling all over it, while staring up at Lake with an expression of complete adoration. The other two dogs began grooming themselves, ignoring the startled looks from the Skidians populating the tiers of seating. “I’m all yours.” Bruce wanted to make sure he and Lake were on the same page.
“I think it would be a good idea to get a feel for how the newSkidians are adapting to their new homes,” Lake ventured, “and see if you can find out what they want from us.. umm.. from the Skidian government.” Lake still had a problem talking to someone he had once looked up to and in many ways feared.
“Send them home!” a voice called out. Bruce looked up to see who had spoken. He had momentarily forgotten he had gate-crashed a session of the Senate. The acoustics were excellent, so the speaker had been able to hear some, if not all, of their conversation.
“Get fucked, you moron,” Bruce shot back, silencing the speaker. “Let’s go and get a cup of coffee,” Bruce suggested to Lake, forgetting he was on Skid and there were no cafés. His automatic choice when he wanted to speak to someone was coffee and a cigarette.
“But the session is still underway. I can’t just walk out.”
“Haven’t you got a backup plan yet, someone you can delegate stuff to? All the nasty little jobs you don’t want to do yourself?”
“No, I haven’t,” Lake replied dejectedly.
Bruce immediately determined this was a big part of Lake’s problem. He was on the brink of being completely overwhelmed by events out of his control and needed someone he could delegate the dirty work to and give himself a break.
Bruce glanced over at Lake, who looked a bit teary-eyed. Bruce hoped Lake wasn’t going to break down and cry on his shoulder. He wasn’t equipped to deal with other people’s emotional problems. He could barely deal with his own.
“You could just leave them to it. Just let them carry on,” Bruce suggested quietly. “Whatever they yap on about its not going to make much difference whether you are here or not. Or just get one of the more outspoken ones, like the redneck dipshit from Didenud, to be your speaker or deputy.”
Lake nodded and pointed his ceremonial baton at the representative from Didenud. “Niur. I need to take a break, so you can chair the session until I return.”
Niur stared at Lake, looking like an opossum caught in a car’s headlights. The last thing he wanted to do was to take some responsibility and be accountable for an outcome. He had no idea what to do.
“I’ll do it!” Mahmoud leapt to his feet, sensing another opportunity when he saw Niur’s hesitation. He started to make his way down the stairs towards Lake and Bruce, to the astonishment of everyone.
Lake turned to Bruce who shrugged his shoulders. “He can’t be any crazier than the others.” and then, almost whispering, added, “It won’t really make a difference anyway.”
“Very well,” he replied and held the baton out for Mahmoud who hurried over before Lake could change his mind. “You’re right.”
He handed over the ceremonial baton and turned to leave. He wanted to get out of the vast room as rapidly as possible. He knew he should offer a few words of encouragement to the newSkidian, but he didn’t know what to offer.
“Don’t take any shit from any of them,” Bruce advised Mahmoud. “Do you have standing orders or something?”
Lake nodded. “Yes, everyone should understand them.”
“Good. Well, we’ll see you later, mate.” Bruce patted Mahmoud on the shoulder and led Lake from the room before the astonished senators could react. “Carry on,” he called out to the rest of the senate, “carry on with your debate.” They left the audito
rium.
“Opening a café with real coffee might be an interesting option for someone,” Bruce decided. “Shit, it’s exactly the kind of opportunity some of these guys should start to think about once they’re settled. Cafés and bars are ideal places for people to meet and socialise.” Once people mastered the capability of the Books and decided how they wanted to amuse themselves, coffee beans and coffee machines could be synthesized and created in the vast manufactories which supplied every conceivable material requirement on the planet.
“You know, I think that’s a bloody great idea.” Bruce continued his theme as they entered Lake’s office. Bruce was tempted to sit in the big seat behind the desk, but he resisted the urge. Lake was clearly unhappy, so he didn’t want to upset him further and tip him over the edge by being a smartarse.
“I reckon I agree I would be best employed travelling around the planet to get a feel for how people are settling in and what they need to move on with their lives,” he began. Bruce wasn’t one to engage in a lot of idle chit chat before getting down to business. “I reckon most of the indoSkidians are still pretty unsettled.” Bruce had started to temper his language, felt he was becoming quite the diplomat in his own way and gave himself a pat on the back. “They will need some time to settle into their new lives.
“You’re only saying this to make me feel better,” Lake replied morosely. Bruce turning up had been a surprise and Lake hoped he was here to take over the running of Skid. That was the farthest thing from Bruce’s mind.
Bruce hesitated. “Yes and no. Look, I think you have done a fantastic job here when all's said and done. There are no rule books for this kind of thing, you know? I want to help knit this society together, and to do this we need to engage with everyone and establish what they need to get on with life and more importantly, get on with each other. We need to work out what the bare minimum to achieve this is, because there are going to have to be a lot of compromises made along the way. We must expect some dissension, because not everyone will have the same set of expectations and requirements.”
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