“You’re the one who wanted to encourage more people to move out to the farms,” Sondra sneered. “Or are you reluctant to take on new farmers after all?”
“My plan was to have new farmers spend five or so years learning the ropes beforehand,” Troutman said. “I don’t think we could accommodate fifty thousand new farmers.”
“Not all of them will be farmers,” Chief Constable Jacob Montgomery said. “A number will be women and children.”
“Maybe only ten thousand of them are farmers,” Troutman said. “That’s still more people than we can accommodate in a hurry.”
He paused. “The Freeholders will not tolerate it.”
“The Freeholders are not in government,” Sondra said, nastily.
Troutman gazed back at her. “And how long do you think that will last?”
William kept his face impassive, although he had to admit it was a direct hit. Arthur’s Seat had four political parties: Empire Loyalists, Freeholders, Unionists and Isolationists. The Empire Loyalists had been in power for the last six years, but the economic shockwave had weakened their grip at the worst possible time. And while the Freeholders and the Isolationists didn't normally have enough support to unseat the government, it was just possible that a combination of economic disaster and unwanted immigrants could give them a boost. Hell, the Unionists might not be so keen to remain allied with the Empire Loyalists if the economic crisis got worse.
There are two years until the next election, he reminded himself. Unless they push for a vote of no-confidence.
He cleared his throat. “This is no time for petty bickering,” he said, sternly. Two years ... a lot could happen in two years. “I believe the facts are simple. Fifty thousand refugees are going to be dumped on us. And there is nothing we can do about it.”
“We could say no,” Troutman said.
“Which we have no way to enforce,” William reminded him. In hindsight, maybe it had been a mistake to refuse to strengthen the Orbital Guard. But the only realistic concern for over three hundred years had been pirates. “They’ll dump them on us anyway and to hell with our quibbles.”
He paused, trying to gauge his support. “We cannot simply let them die,” he added, after a moment. “It would be utterly inhuman. There is no way I will give orders designed to indirectly slaughter fifty thousand men, women and children because I find their presence inconvenient. And I do not believe that the vast majority of our population would condone mass slaughter.”
“Now, perhaps,” Troutman said. “But that is likely to change.”
“These are Forsakers,” Sondra snapped. “We’re not talking about Nihilists or Reformed Vagabonds or some group that may actually pose a danger!”
William slapped the table before the argument could restart. “We always intended to expand our settlements,” he added. “Let us welcome the newcomers and blend them into our society.”
“And what will you do,” Troutman asked, “when they refuse to blend into our society?”
Sondra blinked. “My ancestors did.”
“Your ancestors were starving because they were stupid enough to believe their own lies,” Troutman sneered. “They had no choice. It was join or die. And even then there were problems. Now ... fifty thousand people, born and raised in a very different culture, without the incentive to just give up ... it isn't going to end well.”
He met William’s eyes. “And why were they expelled from Tarsus in the first place?”
“They weren't wanted there,” William said, flatly.
“Yes,” Troutman said. “They’re not wanted here, either.”
“We are going in circles,” William said. “They are going to be landing soon. We have to be ready for them.”
Troutman shook his head. “I want it clearly noted, on the record, that I was against allowing them to land,” he said. “There is no way we can provide everything they need, at once. I don’t know if we can even provide food and drink ... we didn't bother to stockpile vast quantities of ration bars, did we? With the best will in the world, sir, we cannot provide for them. And even if we do, the cost will be immense.”
“These people are not criminals,” Sondra snapped. “It isn't fair to blame them for ...”
“No?” Troutman smiled, rather coldly. “And if they were such paragons of decency, why did they get kicked off Tarsus in the first place?”
He shrugged. “In any case, it doesn't matter,” he added. “There is no way we can absorb so many people in a hurry. Their culture will not be diluted by contact with ours.”
William nodded slowly. “Commodore,” he said. “How quickly could you empty the freighters?”
“It would depend on a number of factors,” Van Houlton said. “Assuming we red-lined the shuttles, which would be grossly unwise, we could evacuate the ships within two weeks. If we followed a more practical course, we could have everyone down within a month. Frankly, though, a great deal depends on how many shuttles the Imperial Navy sent along. I don’t know if they were counting on us to assist or not.”
“And let us not forget,” Troutman added, “that we cannot replace a lost shuttle.”
William nodded, curtly. Troutman was right - Arthur’s Seat couldn't build a shuttle from scratch, let alone a starship - but there was no point in making an issue out of it.
The Chief Constable cleared his throat. “The problem of accommodation will not be solved easily,” he admitted. “We dismantled the old transit barracks over a hundred years ago. If we started now, we could probably assemble a whole set of replacements within the next four weeks, but until then we might have a problem. We certainly don’t have a stockpile of tents or other forms of portable accommodation. We might have to resort to using schools and requisitioning other buildings until we can build barracks.”
“Or we could put out an appeal for families to take in refugees,” Sondra said. “I’m sure there are many people who would be happy to take guests, at least for a few weeks.”
“I’m not,” Troutman said.
Sondra scowled. “The Forsaker families will be delighted ...”
Troutman laughed, unkindly. “How many families like yours practice strict segregation of the sexes?”
He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but held his tongue. Instead, he looked at William.
“I think I speak for most of the rural dwellers when I say that we will not accept having refugees quartered on us, unless they can work,” he added. “And that means they actually have to be able to do useful work. I don’t want untrained monkeys wandering around a farm.”
“People can learn,” Sondra said.
“Yes,” Troutman agreed. “But providing training would be a nightmare.”
“There will be other problems,” the Chief Constable added. “And some of them will only become apparent after we get started.”
He paused. “With your permission, Premier, I would like to put the police on alert,” he added. “And summon the medical staff we’ll need to vet the newcomers.”
William nodded. “Can they handle it?”
“I’m not sure,” the Chief Constable admitted. He looked doubtful. “Our contingency planning was always very limited, sir. About the only practical experience we have comes from evacuating city districts during a fire and ... well, this is on a much greater scale.”
“And with newcomers,” Troutman added. “People will be much less willing to provide emergency accommodation.”
“There are going to be a lot of problems along the way,” the Chief Constable agreed. “I don’t say we can't handle it, sir. I just say it isn't going to be easy.”
“Vetting immigrants is going to be impossible,” Troutman said. “And scaling up the process, such as it is, to cope with over fifty thousand newcomers ....”
William nodded, reluctantly. Arthur’s Seat had never been a magnet for immigration, not when there were other worlds with more land or larger industrial bases. The handful of immigrants who did arrive were easily absorbed into the
population. Hell, it was rare for the planet to get more than a few hundred immigrants a year. But fifty thousand ... no matter how he looked at it, absorbing them was going to be hard.
We cannot refuse to take them, he reminded himself. And we cannot leave them to die.
“We can handle it,” he said, firmly. “And if we all pull together, we can make it happen.”
“This is a fool’s game,” Troutman said. “And I will take no part in it.”
“You have a seat on the Cabinet,” Sondra reminded him.
“I don’t get a vote,” Troutman countered. “And I doubt Parliament will accept this so calmly.”
He rose. “Enjoy your small triumph,” he added, as he strode towards the door. “It won’t last.”
“It will have to,” William said, as the door closed behind Troutman. “Commodore, have the Orbital Guard coordinate with the Imperial Navy, but don’t put too much strain on the shuttles. Chief Constable, make the preparations for receiving the newcomers ... get the spaceport ready and empty out some of the disused factories. They’ll do for the moment. Schools too, if necessary ...”
“That’ll get you the schoolchild vote,” Sondra commented.
“Thanks,” William said. He had to smile. “But I’ll have to wait for a decade before they can vote for me.”
He dismissed the rest of the cabinet to breakfast and turned to her. “Do you think Parliament will approve an emergency spending bill?”
“If we can get enough MPs to support us,” Sondra said. She considered the issue for a long moment. “Steven is going to be rustling up the Opposition ... we might have to do some horse-trading with the Unionists. The Isolationists aren't likely to side with us.”
“Not over this,” William agreed. “I don’t think they’ve realised that everything’s changed.”
He scowled. The Isolationists wanted to isolate Arthur’s Seat from the rest of the universe, something he considered to be a dangerous and futile goal. They’d oppose mass immigration on principle, pointing out the danger of a large ethnic minority population - and the troubles it could cause - that could be used as an excuse for intervention. Hell, the Empire had done just that several times in the last decade alone. But now the Empire was gone. There was no one willing and able to do the intervention.
Unless our neighbours start getting frisky, he thought. Arthur’s Seat didn't have much to attract an invader, but imperialists had never been interested in practicalities. And if they do, we’re screwed.
“See what the Unionists want, in exchange for their support,” he said, finally. “And then arrange a press conference for later this morning. I’ll need to tell the people what’s coming before it leaks.”
“It will leak,” Sondra said. “Steven will see to that.”
“I know,” William said. There were some advantages to living on a world without a first-rate datanet or a thoroughly disrespectful media culture. “But hopefully it won’t spread very far before I get my version out there.”
“Hah,” Sondra said. She shook her head. “Did you speak to your wife?”
“I’ve asked Molly to come back to Lothian today,” William said. “There’ll be opportunities for her to talk to the newcomers. If there are minor problems ... we can smooth them out before they become major problems.”
“I would like to speak with them too,” Sondra said. “I feel a certain responsibility towards them.”
William smiled. “Don’t let Steven hear you say that,” he warned. “He’ll see it as outright treason.”
Sondra shuddered. “Does he have to object to everything?”
“He’s the Leader of the Opposition,” William said. “It's his job.”
He sighed. “And besides, the Freeholders love him for it,” he added. “That’s why they keep returning him to Parliament.”
“Yes,” Sondra agreed. She met his eyes. “And if we did manage to integrate fifty thousand newcomers, William, what would that do to voting demographics?”
William frowned, totting up the numbers in his head. “It would give us a boost, at least at first,” he said. “Enough, perhaps, to keep power for the next decade.”
“Exactly,” Sondra said. “The Freeholders will be outvoted, constantly. And that would keep them firmly out of power.”
“True,” William agreed. He wasn't sure if he would benefit, but Sondra certainly would. She was well-placed to take his position when his term expired. “And yet, it all depends on managing the situation perfectly. We must not mess up.”
He watched her leave, shaking his head in amusement. Trust Sondra to find a way to profit from the situation. And, perhaps, to ensure that the entire party profited. But a single mistake would be disastrous. Troutman wasn't wrong. Absorbing so many people would be difficult.
But we can do it, he told himself, as he followed her out the door. We’ve done it before.
Chapter Four
Humanity’s expansion into space can be said to fall into four phases. First, there was the expansion into the Sol System itself. Second, there was the launch of multiple ‘slowboat’ (STL) starships aimed at prospective colony worlds relatively near to Earth. Third, there was the early phase drive expansion into the Sol Sector and beyond. Fourth, and last, there was the Empire’s determination to transport as many people from Earth as possible.
- Professor Leo Caesius. Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.
Joel wrinkled his nose in distaste as John entered the compartment, looking around nervously at the other young men. Joel found it difficult to understand how a young man with such a heritage could be so weak - John’s father had been a stern man, one of the few who had even cowed Joel - but he supposed it had its advantages. A strong man in John’s position might have objected to Joel’s father assuming the role of family head and control of Hannah’s ultimate disposition. He might even have brought his sister to heel.
“Close the hatch,” he ordered, curtly.
Ben, one of his closest allies, scrambled to obey, slamming the hatch shut with a disconcerting thud. A number of young men winced, their reactions clearly visible no matter how hard they tried to hide it. The starship felt claustrophobic at the best of times. Joel kept his own face carefully expressionless as he motioned for his friends to sit down, silently assessing their suitability for their roles. They were all young, they all burned with rage and humiliation ...
“When we were moved to Tarsus, we were promised lands and farms,” Joel said, as soon as everyone else was sitting down. “Instead, we were herded into estates and fed promises. We will be given land next year! No, next year! No, the year after that! And while we waited, desperately praying that those promises would be kept, our children were fed lies that seduced them from the path. How many of our people chose to Fall rather than stay with us?
“And then we were dragged from our homes, as pitiful as they were, and thrown bodily onto shuttles. Our homes were smashed, our women were abused, our children were threatened with dogs ... we were uprooted, as casually as one uproots a plant! We were wrenched from our lives and dumped on this ship! And wherever we are going now, is there any reason to think it will be any better?”
He paused, assessing their response. He’d always been good at reading his audience - it was why he’d become a Steward so young - but this was different. This was no ordinary sermon, not really. None of the Elders, not even his father, knew why he’d gathered forty-one young men in a single compartment. And while he hoped they would understand, when they found out the truth, he knew it wasn't certain.
The Elders have been in charge for too long, he thought. He’d been raised to respect and obey his father, but the old man was sometimes painfully wrong. And it is time we chose a different path.
“Why?”
He let the word hang in the air for a long second, then continued. “Why did this happen to us?”
Ben watched him with shining eyes. Joshua seemed grimly determined - his sister had been one of the harassed women, although she’
d chosen to stay with the community rather than move away. And John ... John’s face was weak as always, his doubts clearly visible to anyone who knew to look. Joel felt his lips twist, once again. John was truly contemptible.
“We were weak,” Joel said.
“We were not allowed to gather weapons until it was far too late. Even when we were allowed to purchase weapons, the Elders forbade us from obtaining anything lethal or training in its use. They obeyed the planetary government, never realising that the government hated us, that the government would do nothing to help us. And when the police came for us, what good were we? We were overwhelmed in moments, forced to watch as our lives were destroyed.”
Humiliation burned through him. He swore, once again, that he would put the emotion to good use.
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