Culture Shock

by Christopher Nuttall

  Kicking himself, he kept pedalling until he finally reached the police station, a small building on the edge of the city centre. He dumped his bike into the rack - no one would dare to steal from a police station - and hurried into the building. It was surprisingly quiet, only two prisoners sitting on the benches waiting to be processed. They both looked like teens who’d had a little too much to drink the previous night, their eyes flickering nervously from side to side as if they expected the death penalty. Mike rather suspected their parents would be called to take them away, but nothing else. Arthur’s Seat wasn’t the kind of planet that locked up teens - still children, really - for drinking. If no one had been hurt, there was no need to take it further.

  He smiled at the two prisoners, then walked through the security gate and into the briefing room. It was crammed. The room hadn’t been designed to hold more than twenty men, but now there were nearly seventy packed into the compartment. Sergeant Steve Cox stood at the front of the room, glaring at the constables, while Captain Duncan Stewart was reading a datapad, his face growing darker and darker. Mike had never seen Stewart quite so upset before. Something must have gone really badly wrong.

  “Take a seat,” Cox ordered.

  Mike nodded. Some helpful soul had brought in chairs and coffee from the cafeteria. Mike snagged a plastic cup of foul coffee and found a seat. It was so cramped that there would be complaints from the jails, if prisoners were forced into such close confines. His eyes swept the room, silently matching names to faces. There were just over a hundred constables assigned to the station - one of five in Lothian - and it looked like nearly all of them had been called in. He couldn't remember seeing so many officers in one place before, not even before football matches, when tempers ran high and fist-fights were the norm.

  “Hey, Mike,” Steve said. He’d entered training at the same time as Mike himself and they’d become fast friends. “You have any idea what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” Mike said. “You?”

  “Apparently, there was an emergency Cabinet meeting this morning,” Steve said. “But I don’t know what they were talking about ...”

  Mike frowned. Was the planet about to be attacked? Arthur’s Seat had little to interest any rational conqueror, but he’d been a policeman long enough to know that some people - most people - weren't rational. And the Orbital Guard was puny. If Tarsus or Night’s Dawn or Haven had decided to invade the system, there was very little standing in their way. And then ... what? Were the police about to be told that they would have to serve an invading force? Or go into POW camps because they might lead resistance?

  Not that it would make any difference, he thought, numbly. He was no military expert, but he’d read a lot of books set in the glory days of the Empire. As long as the enemy controls the high orbitals, they can hammer us into submission.

  “Quiet,” Cox said. The babble died away to nothingness. “Captain?”

  Captain Stewart took the stand. “An emergency situation has developed,” he said, his voice icy cold. “You - we - are being charged with dealing with it. I shouldn't have to say this, but I will. The matter we will be discussing today is classified. I will break any man who shares this information before a formal announcement is made.”

  Mike glanced at Steve, who looked equally puzzled - and concerned. Captain Stewart wasn't normally that much of a hard-ass. His men respected him as well as liked him. He didn't need to stamp around like a fictional police chief to get the point across. And that meant ...

  Someone must have been leaning on him, Mike thought. A chill ran down his spine. And if there was a Cabinet meeting earlier today ... it can't be a coincidence.

  “Within the next couple of days,” Stewart continued, “a substantial number of refugees will be landed at the spaceport. These refugees were kicked off Tarsus shortly after the local government heard that Earth no longer existed. The Imperial Navy - or what’s left of it - is shipping those refugees here.”

  Damn, Mike thought.

  “The Cabinet has decided to accept the refugees,” Stewart continued, darkly. He lowered his voice. “Reading between the lines, I suspect they weren't given a choice. This will put immense pressure on our emergency services, but we will rise to the challenge.”

  He paused. “You have all been assigned to relief services,” he added. “You’ll be moving out to the spaceport after we finish this briefing, with orders to start preparing emergency supplies, control lines and everything we need to ensure that the refugees are registered as quickly as possible. We’ll be taking over the entire spaceport complex, working hand in hand with the other emergency workers. This will not be an easy task.”

  Mike swallowed. He couldn't help noticing that Captain Stewart had not mentioned any numbers. Stewart was too smart to miss that accidentally, which meant ... what? Did he know? Or did he feel that his men didn't need to know? How many refugees were they talking about? And what were they?

  Constable Mathews stuck up a hand. “Captain, can we rely on the civilian emergency workers?”

  “We’re about to find out,” Stewart said. He didn’t sound pleased. “They were called up shortly after yourselves.”

  Mike winced. The civilian emergency workers hadn't been mobilised for years. Hell, if he recalled correctly, the last full-scale drill had been three years ago. The civilians might have seen signing up as nothing more than a way to get an extra note on their résumé. It wasn't as if they were needed. The entire set of contingency plans had come close to being junked, several times. Disasters just didn't happen on Arthur’s Seat.

  “The estimated ETA for the refugees keeps changing,” Stewart added, when no one else tried to interrupt. “The least-time estimate is thirty-six hours from now. I want to have the bare bones of a reception service ready before then. This will not be easy, but we can do it.”

  “Hah,” Steve muttered.

  Mike was inclined to agree. The police did have stockpiles of emergency supplies, but how long would they last? God knew they’d never been allowed to increase the stockpiles - the damned beancounters had insisted they were nothing more than a useless drain on resources - and they were scattered all over the continent. It would take a great deal longer than thirty-six hours to assemble them all in one place. And then? Who knew?

  We might have to collect supplies from the farms, he thought. That won’t go down well.

  “These people have been through hell,” Stewart warned. “They’ve just been kicked off one world and transported to another. Expect them to be distrusting, at first. Be calm, be reasonable, be understanding. They are not bad people merely because they’ve been dropped on us with only a few hours warning.”

  Sure, Mike agreed. But there might have been a reason they were kicked off Tarsus.

  “The briefing notes are in the office processor,” Stewart concluded. “Get yourselves some more coffee - and breakfast, if you need it - and then assemble at 1000 in the vehicle bay. We’ll be moving the portable command post to the spaceport.”

  Mike rose with the rest of the officers. It was 0934. Just enough time to grab a bacon sandwich and another cup of foul coffee. He’d eaten breakfast, of course, but he had a feeling he was going to need more. There wasn't much at the spaceport, not when interstellar travel had been on the decline for years. And the emergency planning was so disorganised that it was quite possible that someone would forget to send food.

  “Refugees,” Steve said, as they hurried down the corridor. “What sort of refugees?”

  Mike shrugged. “Good question.”

  ***

  “You do realise we’re late for class?”

  Judith Parkston shrugged. An evening dancing at the club, a night spent making love and a morning filled with gentle cuddles ... she found it hard to care if she missed a class or two. Besides, she’d heard rumours that the entire course was going to be cancelled in the next month or two. The Arthurian University had never been a very big institution and it didn't have the political clout t
o keep claiming funds from the planetary government. And then ... who knew?

  She smiled at her girlfriend as Gayle rose and straddled Judith. They were different, strikingly different. Gayle was dark-haired, her narrow face suggesting descent from one of the Forsaker lines; Judith was blonde and bubbly, her muscles testament to her childhood on a farm. And yet, they’d found enough in common to share an apartment - and a bed - for the last six months. God alone knew where it would end - she doubted Gayle would be happy on a farm, if Judith had to go back home - but for the moment they were happy.

  The phone bleeped just as Gayle’s fingers were stroking the space between Judith’s legs, sending shudders of ecstasy down her body. She cursed bitterly, then reached for the phone on the dressing table. She would have ignored her professor - as if the old goat would have bothered to call and find out where she was - but it was an emergency call. She'd been told, years ago, that failing to answer would result in a fine, perhaps even jail time. Judith wasn't sure how seriously to take the threat, but she knew her parents would be disappointed in her if she didn't answer. They were already annoyed with her for going to university.

  She tapped her lips, warning Gayle to be quiet, then keyed the phone. “Parkston.”

  “Miss Parkston,” a man’s voice said. He sounded oddly familiar, but she couldn't place him. “This is an emergency situation. The designated assembly point in your area is the University Hall, 1100 hours. Your presence is requested. I say again, your presence is requested.”

  The call cut off before she could say a word, leaving her staring down at the phone in shock and disbelief. Her parents had urged her to sign up for emergency work, pointing out that she could use the stipend - and her skills might be useful, if there was an emergency. But she’d never really believed there would be an emergency. She’d certainly passed up several chances to withdraw her name from the roster before it was too late.

  Gayle’s hand reached down again. Judith pushed it away, gently.

  “I need to go,” she said. Gayle rolled off her, looking hurt. “That was an emergency call.”

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose. The bedsit was standard student accommodation; she hurried into the kitchen to switch on the coffee maker, then ran into the bathroom. She should have enough time to take a shower and dress ... what was she supposed to wear? She’d never given it any thought. She cursed herself under her breath as she washed away the evidence of their lovemaking, then dried herself and hurried back into the bedroom. Most of her student outfits would be grossly unprofessional, but she did have a tunic and shirt that would probably be suitable. Hell, if nothing else, she could sit through the briefing and then find something different to wear if necessary.

  Gayle was sitting on the bed, her legs drawn up to cover herself. It was odd, Judith had thought, how her modesty came and went at the oddest of times. Gayle might have come from a Forsaker family, but none of them could be said to follow the old ways. Her distant ancestors were probably turning in their grave at the thought of Gayle’s relationship with Judith.

  “Do you have to go?”

  “Yeah,” Judith said. She pulled on her panties and bra, then found her trousers. “I get paid to go.”

  Gayle nodded. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “Not yet,” Judith said. She’d never encouraged Gayle to sign up too. That might have been a mistake. “If they want additional manpower, do you want me to recommend you?”

  “If you like,” Gayle said. She paused. “It isn't going to be dangerous, is it?”

  “It’s probably just a drill,” Judith said. The last drill had been chaotic. She'd only just signed up and she hadn't had the slightest idea what she was doing. “I’ll be back tonight, ready and raring to go.”

  “Good,” Gayle said. “And be careful.”

  Judith looked at her. “Why ...?”

  Gayle flushed. “It might not be a drill.”

  Chapter Six

  These people were often the pioneers of the slowboat era. Choosing to break all contact with Earth, they fitted fusion drives to their starships - in reality, hollowed-out asteroids - and boosted themselves into interstellar space. In the absence of a workable FTL drive system, they believed that interstellar traffic would be very limited - indeed, that it would never become practical to build and maintain an interstellar empire.

  - Professor Leo Caesius. Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.

  “Well, come on,” the spacer snapped. “We don’t have all day.”

  John braced himself and inched through the airlock into the shuttle. The air smelt faintly unpleasant, the scent of high technology blending with the stench of too many people in too close proximity for too long. It wasn't the first shuttle he’d ridden in, but last time he’d been too distracted to take note of his surroundings. This time, he couldn't help noticing that there was something oddly fragile about the shuttlecraft. The chairs looked ... flimsy, as if they were made of plastic.

  He made his way slowly down to the front of the craft and sat down by the porthole. There was nothing outside, but darkness. Surely there should be stars? It took him longer than it should, he realised numbly, to deduce that the porthole was pressed against the freighter’s hull. The darkness was nothing more than hullmetal. Hannah sat next to him, her face pale and wan. A nasty bruise on her cheek showed where their mother had slapped her, several times, after she’d finally returned to the hold. She’d practically spent the next day as a prisoner in the female quarters.

  John winced, cursing - once again - his own weakness. Their father had forbidden their mother to beat her daughter, but now their father was gone. And John himself was too weak to forbid their mother - or Konrad - from disciplining Hannah as they saw fit. He hoped, desperately, that they could find a way to save Hannah from marrying Joel, but nothing had come to mind. Joel was popular and powerful even without his network of fighters.

  I’m sorry, he thought, bitterly. Why am I so weak?

  He turned his head as a stream of passengers slowly filed onto the shuttles. Five of the nine Elders, led by Konrad ... the remainder would stay on the freighter, at least until they knew it was safe to land. Not that it would matter, John thought. Joel had made it pretty clear that the Forsakers were going to be dumped on their new homeworld, whatever they had to say about the matter. And while John wouldn't normally have trusted anything Joel said, he doubted Joel would see any point in lying. The truth would come out very quickly.

  “Buckle your straps, then remain in your seats until you are ordered to move,” a voice said, firmly. “Anyone who attempts to get up and walk around will be stunned without warning.”

  John looked up and saw a spacer, standing by the hatch to the cockpit. A female spacer stood next to him, wearing yet another form-fitting outfit. He forced himself to look away, knowing that his mother might see him staring and report it to Konrad. God alone knew what Konrad would say, but John doubted it would be anything pleasant. He rubbed his forehead as the outer hatch slammed closed, a loud clang echoing through the shuttle. It was a relief to be finally off the big ship, but the shuttle was terrifyingly claustrophobic. He wouldn’t feel safe until he was down on the surface, once again.

  And what, he asked himself, if we’re being dumped on a penal colony?

  He’d heard the stories, back when he’d been forced to attend school on Tarsus. He hadn't believed them. Worlds where hardly anything grew, worlds where survival was a constant battle against the elements, worlds ruled by the strong ... Surely, no place so unpleasant could exist. But if his entire community could be rounded up and kicked off Tarsus, maybe penal worlds did exist. And if they were being dumped on one ...?

  At least we’ll be a community, he thought. And there’s a lot of us.

  He pushed the thought aside as the shuttle shook once, the gravity field seeming to grow stronger for a long second before slowly returning to normal. Hannah let out a quiet gasp as the shuttle shook again, then leaned forward
so she could peer out the porthole. John followed her gaze, feeling a cold shiver running down his spine. The view had changed. The freighter hung in the midst of an endless darkness, cold pinpricks of light glaring down at them ... below it, a green-blue orb dominated the scene. It looked terrifyingly small against the vastness of space ... John felt his head spin as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. The starship ...

  Man is not meant to walk amongst the stars, he thought. He’d been told that, again and again. And yet, the Forsakers had left their original homeworld over three hundred years ago, settling dozens of other worlds. What does that make us?

  He gritted his teeth as the shuttle picked up speed, turning away from the freighter and heading down towards the planet below. John felt ... something ... running through the craft, a faint sensation that felt vaguely unpleasant. Behind him, he heard someone start to pray, calling on God to preserve them from the demon technology. The spacer, sitting on the other side of the row, looked annoyed, but did nothing as the prayers grew in volume. John wasn't sure if he should be relieved ... or annoyed himself.