His sister turned to face him. “I should have stayed,” she said, again. “I could have blended in ...”
John couldn't disagree with her. The Forsakers had been forced to send their children to local schools, back on Tarsus. It hadn't been an enjoyable experience for John, but he knew Hannah had enjoyed it. She’d been free, if only for a short time, from the demands that came with being a young girl in the community. And she’d fitted in far better than himself. John knew he should have reported her for wearing Outsider clothes, listening to Outsider music and watching Outsider flicks, but he hadn’t. In truth, he wasn't sure why he hadn't. Everyone knew that learning about the Outsiders was the first step to Falling ...
And if she had left, he thought, I would be alone with Konrad.
He shook his head, slowly. Everyone said that Elder Konrad had done their family a favour by marrying their mother, after her husband had died. And perhaps he had, John admitted, reluctantly. He’d been too young to succeed his father as head of the household. But Konrad was too stiff, too unbending, to make a good stepfather. John had been able to talk about anything with his father, even matters that would get him in trouble if he spoke about them to anyone else. He’d never been scared of his father. But he didn't dare talk openly to Konrad.
“You would have Fallen,” he said, finally. “Hannah ...”
Hannah laughed, bitterly. “Would it have mattered?”
“It would have mattered to me,” John said. “Hannah ...”
His sister cut him off. “What sort of life was it? Being trapped on a stinky estate, endless promises of farms and lands that were never kept ... John, do you think the promises would have been kept?”
John shook his head, morbidly. The Forsakers had been promised farms and land of their own for years. But the farms had never materialised. His entire generation had grown up without ever seeing anything outside the city. Hell, many of the younger children had never left the estate.
“Exactly,” Hannah said. “And really ... why stay?”
John shook his head. He had no answer.
The first Forsakers had had land, he knew. There was no doubt about that, although schisms in the community had sometimes obscured precisely what the founders had and hadn’t believed. They’d moved away from modern technology, founding communities that had been almost completely self-sufficient. John had heard enough stories about their world to know it sounded like paradise. But times had changed, the community had scattered ...
... And they’d become unwelcome guests on a dozen worlds.
They could have rebuilt the first communities, John was sure, if they’d been given land and space. The tools they needed had been carefully preserved, ever since they’d been moved from Haven to Tarsus. But it was clear that Hannah was right. Tarsus had never intended to give the Forsakers anything, certainly nothing more than the bare minimum. And the Empire, which had guaranteed their safety, was now gone. It hadn't taken long for Tarsus to rid itself of its unwanted guests.
And they would have kept me, he thought, if I’d left the community.
He shuddered at the thought. There was nothing stopping him from leaving, but he wouldn't have been able to return. The Fallen were permanently excluded from the Forsakers, stricken from their families ... his mother would have disowned him, his stepfather would have pretended he’d never existed. And anyone who stayed in touch with him would have been shunned by the remainder of the community. He couldn't have severed all ties to his family and friends.
“I should have stayed,” Hannah said. It would have been easier for her, John was sure. She had few friends in the community. Most girls her age were already married. “No one would have missed me.”
“I would have missed you,” John said, honestly.
“And now we’re going to some other hellhole where we will be trapped too,” Hannah added, ignoring him. “They should have just dumped us on a penal world. It would be more honest.”
She met his eyes. “Does Konrad talk about arranging a match for you?”
John shook his head. It bothered him, more than he cared to admit. Men weren't encouraged to marry until they were at least twenty-one and believed mature enough to raise a family, but it was common for betrothal talks to start earlier. His father would have started them already, John was sure; Konrad, a man who was technically in a better position to arrange a good match, had done nothing of the sort.
“I think he’s too interested in arranging a match for his natural son,” he said, sourly. “I ...”
He broke off. “I’m sorry ...”
Hannah sighed. “If I had left,” she said, “it would have been easier for you to marry.”
“It doesn't matter,” John said.
“Oh, goody,” Hannah said. She didn’t believe him. “Are you sure?”
John shrugged. He’d never had a real conversation with any young woman, save for his sister. Young men weren't encouraged to talk to young women. He couldn't say he knew any of the unmarried girls very well. When the time came to marry, the two sets of parents would chat and come to a final decision before allowing the youngsters to meet under careful supervision. A young man and woman who talked without supervision would be in deep trouble, forced to either marry or leave the community. John ... didn't think he was ready to marry, not yet.
“It isn't as if you’re older than me,” he said, lightly. “My marriage isn't dependent on yours.”
“True,” Hannah agreed. “But how long will that last?”
John shook his head. He didn't want to think about it, not yet. He’d told himself that he would get established before he started asking Konrad to find him a bride, but as the years passed getting established had started to seem more and more like a pointless dream. He wasn't going to be one of the men who did nothing, apart from keeping his wife pregnant, yet he didn't know what else he was going to do.
“I have to go back to the hold,” he said, instead. Talking to Hannah had helped him to forget that he was on a starship, but he still wasn't comfortable. “You should come with me.”
Hannah smirked. “Aren't you going to try to drag me?”
“No,” John said. He wouldn't have dared. Their mother would never have forgiven him if they’d made a scene. Konrad and Joel wouldn't have been happy either. “Hannah ...”
“I’ll be along in a minute,” his sister promised. She turned until she was staring into the eerie lights of phase space. “You can tell them you never saw me, if you like.”
John sighed. “Mother won’t be pleased if I lie to her,” he said. “I’ll stay out of her way until you get back. She’ll be too mad at you to ask questions.”
He turned and strode out of the compartment, hurrying back down the corridor towards the lower decks. A couple of crew passed, their eyes narrowing disdainfully at him. Both of them were women, wearing clothes so tight that it was hard not to stare. Their bodies might have been covered, but it was easy to see the swell of their breasts and the shape of their thighs. He had to fight the urge to look behind him as they passed, reminding himself that it would only get him in trouble. The security detachment on the ship hadn't hesitated to use neural whips whenever the passengers got uppity.
A faint smell wafted through the air as he walked down the stairs. The women were cooking in their compartment, trying desperately to turn their rations into something edible. John wasn’t sure if the passengers were being given unpleasant-tasting rations deliberately or not, but nothing the women had done had succeeded in improving the taste. The best of the ration bars tasted like cardboard, no matter how many sauces were smeared onto the muck.
He frowned as he saw an opened hatch and peered inside. Joel was standing there, his back to the hatch, talking quietly to one of the starship’s crew. John blinked in surprise - the Elders had insisted that none of the passengers talk to the crew, save when absolutely necessary - and stared. It looked, very much, like a friendly conversation. A set of boxes lay on a table, all unmarked. And Joel was pa
ssing something to the crewman ...
John inched backwards, trying not to be seen or heard. Seven Forsakers - four boys, three girls - had been harshly punished for ignoring the Elders. They’d chosen to talk to the crew, to ask them questions about their ship and life in space ... even though no true Forsaker would want anything beyond a farm. John had no idea what they’d asked, or even what they’d been told, but it didn't matter. He didn't want to be punished himself.
“Thank you,” Joel said, loudly enough to be heard outside. “And if you have any others ...”
The rest of his words were lost as John slipped down the corridor and turned the corner. A pair of Elders were standing outside one of the female cabins, making sure the unmarried girls weren't disturbed by the crew. They didn't know Joel was talking to a crewman, John guessed. Joel might have Konrad for a father, but Konrad wasn't the only Elder. The others wouldn't be amused if they caught Joel defying his father.
I never defied my father, John thought, as he reached the hold. He wondered, suddenly, just how different his life would have been if his father had survived. But Hannah would have defied him too.
“John,” a stern voice said. John turned to see Elder Peter, an old bearded man given to long-winded sermons on the sins of the modern world and the rightness of the Forsaker path. “Your father is looking for you.”
Stepfather, John thought. He didn't dare say it out loud. Correcting an Elder would get him in real trouble. It would be taken for cheek, even if he happened to be right. Perhaps especially if he happened to be right. He’s my stepfather, you ...
He stopped that thought before it showed on his face. “Thank you, Elder,” he said, as politely as he could. The Elders might choose to maintain the polite fiction that John was Konrad’s son, but John knew better. “I’ll go find him at once.”
“He’s in his section,” Peter informed him. “And I expect to see you for prayers tonight.”
John nodded. There was no point in trying to get out of it. Someone would notice his absence and report him to his stepfather, who would throw a fit. John’s behaviour would reflect badly on Konrad, after all. Perhaps that was why he was trying to get Joel to marry Hannah. Hannah’s behaviour was already reflecting badly on him.
And if I had half the courage Hannah has, John thought, I would have told him off by now.
He shook his head, feeling - not for the first time - utterly trapped. Even if he did tell Konrad where to go, the remainder of the community would turn on him. Hannah, he acknowledged, probably felt the same way too. They were bound by invisible chains, held in place by silent disapproval and the threat of punishment. And there was no way to resist.
“John,” a new voice said. John felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he turned to see Joel, slipping into the compartment as if he had just been at bible study, rather than an illicit meeting. “You will be coming to the sermon tonight, won’t you?”
John kept his expression blank. Joel had been known to react badly to any hint of disagreement. He was young, barely four years older than John, but he already had a fearsome reputation. If Konrad hadn't been his father ...
“Of course, Steward,” John said. He knew there was no getting out of it. “I’ll be sure to attend.”
Chapter Three
The answer, alas, lies in the twin demons of human nature and the response of political and corporate elites to perverse incentives.
- Professor Leo Caesius. Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.
“Out of the question,” Steven Troutman snapped. The Leader of the Opposition thumped the table to make his point clearer. “We can barely support ourselves! We cannot take umpteen million new immigrants on a day’s notice!”
“Fifty thousand,” William said, quietly.
“And how do you know,” Troutman demanded, “that it will stay at fifty thousand?”
He went on before William could say a word. “There are Forsaker settlements all over the sector,” he added, sharply. “How many other worlds don’t want them? How many other worlds will dump them on us, if we give them half a chance?”
“There are Forsakers on our world,” Vice Premier Sondra Mackey pointed out. Her red curls shivered angrily as she spoke. “Many of us are descended from Forsakers.”
“And when was the last time you worked on a farm?” Troutman asked. He looked Sondra up and down. “And when was the last time you stepped aside to let the men make the hard decisions?”
Sondra coloured. “My family hasn't followed those traditions for three hundred years!”
“Quite,” Troutman agreed. “And what makes you any different from the rest of us?”
He thumped the table, again. “Your family dates all the way back to the first settlements on our homeworld,” he said. “But if you don’t look or act any different from the rest of the population ... is there any difference at all?”
William hated to admit it, but Troutman had a point. Sondra was an effective political operator, a woman who had climbed through the ranks until he’d had to offer her a place in his government. There was no way she could be mistaken for a traditional Forsaker woman, a woman who cooked, cleaned and otherwise stayed out of sight while her menfolk ran the farm. Wearing traditional clothes on Remembrance Day didn’t make her a Forsaker. But, at the same time, Sondra did have ties running all the way back to the first settlement. It wasn't something she could easily deny.
“Right now, we are in the midst of an economic crisis,” Troutman continued. “We are having problems keeping basic services going, for crying out loud! And you want to add fifty thousand newcomers?”
“We can't just turn them away,” Sondra said.
“Of course we can,” Troutman snapped. “This is our world. We settled it ...”
“My ancestors got here first,” Sondra snapped back.
“Yeah,” Troutman said. “And just how relieved were they when we arrived?”
William sighed. It wasn’t uncommon for settlers to arrive at their new home, only to discover that someone else had got there first. Even in the days of the Empire, claim-jumping had been a major problem. The Forsakers who had settled Arthur’s Seat had been sold the settlement rights by a con artist, who’d correctly reasoned that the Forsakers were so desperate for a homeworld that they wouldn't check his credentials before making the purchase. And then they’d discovered that Arthur’s Seat was nowhere near as habitable as they’d been told. By the time the real settlers arrived, the Forsakers had been on the verge of extinction.
And they realised the folly of living without technology, he thought. They practically abandoned their culture overnight.
“That isn't the point,” Sondra said. She jabbed a finger at the map. “We have plenty of land to share!”
“That’s our land,” Troutman said.
“You’re always saying we need more farmers,” Sondra said. “And here are fifty thousand men and women who want to farm!”
“Fifty thousand people who won’t fit into our culture,” Troutman said. “And who will probably need help to tame and settle the land, help we cannot afford to provide.”
He looked around the table. “We should tell them to leave.”
“We can't,” Commodore Charles Van Houlton said, quietly.
“We should,” Troutman snapped.
Van Houlton cleared his throat, loudly. “The Forsakers are being shipped here by the Imperial Navy,” he said. “There is no way we can keep them from dumping the poor bastards on the surface. The Orbital Guard doesn’t even begin to have the firepower to stand off a naval squadron. If we tell them to leave - and they refuse to go - we have no way to enforce it. They have already demanded the use of our shuttles and spaceports.”
“Which I have granted,” William added.
“They have no right to dump unwanted guests on our world,” Troutman snarled.
“Might makes right,” Van Houlton countered. “Earth no longer exists, sir. There’s no higher authority to appeal to, not now. That squad
ron can do whatever the hell it likes.”
Troutman glared. “I told you that trying to build ties to the galactic economy was a mistake!”
“I don’t think it would make a difference, if we’d tried to remain self-sufficient,” William pointed out. “We would still seem a convenient dumping ground.”
“Then let the bastards dump them on Minoa,” Troutman said. “There’s plenty of room there.”
“They’ll die without help,” Sondra snapped. “You’d be condemning fifty thousand people to death!”
“And our duty is to the ten million people on our homeworld,” Troutman snapped back. “I am not unsympathetic, but there is no way we can absorb so many people without serious problems. And what the hell are they expecting from us? Land and farms?”
Culture Shock Page 3