Culture Shock
Page 8
Sondra withdrew her hand, her face expressionless. She was a practiced politician, but Joel thought she was irked. It hardly mattered. Her embarrassment was irritating, yet his father losing his position would be far worse. And besides, it would make it clear that the Forsakers would not be changing their ways. He turned, shouted for the rest of the shuttle’s passengers and then allowed a young man to lead them into the giant warehouse. It was immense, larger than the warehouses on Tarsus, yet far too small for the freighter’s passengers ...
And then there are the other freighters, he thought. And there might be others still.
He smiled at the thought as he collected a blanket, a bedroll and a small packet of rations from the immense pile. The spacer had warned him that other planets might follow Tarsus’s lead and start deporting their Forsakers too. And if that happened ...
We might grow to be the majority very quickly, he thought. And won’t that be interesting?
***
Judith barely noticed when the cop excused himself and headed off to do some police work on the other side of the spaceport. She was too busy watching the Forsakers as they disembarked from the shuttle, many of them staggering around like students who’d just drunk themselves silly for the first time since leaving home. Forsakers didn't drink, according to the briefing notes. They’d probably reacted badly to the flight through the upper atmosphere and down to the ground. Judith was no expert in space technology, but she wouldn't have willingly boarded the shuttle they’d used. It looked as though it was steadily falling apart.
It probably is, she thought, as she studied the next set of immigrants. She'd seen a bulletin on the datanet from a Rear Admiral Carlow, practically offering the sun and the moon to any space-certified engineers willing to sign on with the Imperial Navy. If they’re that desperate for manpower, what does it say about their ships?
She dismissed the thought as the immigrants slowly gathered themselves and marched towards the hangar. They looked odd, although it was hard for her to put her finger on why they looked odd. They moved with a sullen resignation mixed with defiance, their eyes flickering around as if they were unsure if they should be cowering back from a blow or getting ready to deliver one. The older men and women just kept their heads down, the younger ones seemed more alert. She found herself staring at a handsome young man, his face covered with flecks of stubble, wondering just what was going through his mind. Men had rarely interested her, but there was an oddness about him that called to her.
Gritting her teeth, she moved her attention to a pair of young girls. It was impossible to be sure, if only because their dresses were utterly shapeless, but she placed them at being no older than seventeen. Their eyes were constantly looking down, as if they were reluctant to look up and make eye contact with anyone. An older woman was following them, watching them like a hawk. Judith couldn't help noticing that they shied away from men, even their fellow Forsakers. Were they that reluctant to be near them?
She’d been right, she told herself. These weren't men and women wearing traditional clothes for a day, either to celebrate or to remember what they’d left behind. These were their clothes and ... and that was their life. She'd never really considered the Forsakers to be different from their fellows, but none of the Forsakers she knew - like Gayle - were true Forsakers. How could they be? Their ancestors had been so desperate, when the rightful settlers arrived, that they’d abandoned their traditions with terrifying speed.
But these people are different, she thought, grimly. They never had that experience to shape their lives.
She felt a stab of pity as a dozen children, boys and girls wearing archaic clothing, were escorted across the tarmac and into the hangar. They looked ... beaten down, their faces shadowed by their experiences. Judith had no idea what it was like to be disliked, if not hated, by everyone, just for being different, but she could imagine it. Her life would have been unliveable if everyone had hated her family. The children were thin, terrifyingly thin ... had they been fed? Or had the spacers not bothered to provide food for the children?
The ground crew hurried over to the shuttle and started to work, helping a handful of older men and women out of the craft. Judith felt another flicker of sympathy, mixed with a strange kind of contempt. The older folk looked ill, their skins pockmarked with the remains of diseases ... diseases that could be beaten, easily, with the right kind of medicines and vaccines. But the Forsakers had never been keen on any form of modern medicine, if she recalled correctly. Their women still suffered through monthly bleeding a simple implant could halt.
Poor bitches, she thought. Judging by the way the ground crew was working, some - perhaps most - of the passengers had thrown up. There were treatments for that too. It’s no life for anyone.
She sighed as she turned back to the workplace. More shuttles appeared overhead, dropping down towards the spaceport. She’d been on a break, but there would be more work for everyone in the next few hours. The newcomers would have to be processed before they were moved into the warehouses, where they would be held until ... until what? No one she’d met had had any idea of what would happen in the future. Fifty thousand ... Judith’s father had often ranted about the need to get more farmers into the countryside, but fifty thousand untrained newcomers? She hadn't forgotten the handful of students who’d volunteered to live and work in the country without the slightest idea of what they were getting into. Only five out of twenty had lasted the entire month ...
... And only two of them had chosen to stay, afterwards.
We’ll have to see what happens when it happens, she told herself, firmly. Making a mental note to call Gayle - her friend might have some insight - she headed back to the control room to receive her next assignment. Until then, all we can do is take care of them.
***
John and Hannah hung back as the shuttle emptied, allowing the others to go first before they reluctantly left the craft. The air smelt funny, but it was better than the stench of vomit from the craft’s interior. Konrad hadn't been the only one to be sick, apparently. John knew it was cruel, but he savoured the memory anyway. It was nice to know that Konrad was weaker than he acted.
And perhaps he wasn't the only one, John thought. Did Joel throw up?
He barely noticed the giant warehouse - or whatever it was - as he stared around the spaceport. It was immense, huge beyond words ... it seemed large enough to take the entire community and have room left over. And yet, as more shuttles dropped from the sky, he couldn't help thinking that he wouldn't be happy there. The spaceport practically stunk of technology.
“Move along,” a voice called. “This isn't a safe place.”
John looked up. A man was standing there, wearing a blue uniform that made him look like a spacer. His face was pleasant, although there was a hint of paternal firmness that reminded John of his father. A man who was on his side, a man who would fight for him ... but also a man who wouldn't hesitate to correct him when he was wrong. John felt a stab of bitter regret, which he swiftly suppressed. His father was in a better place, leaving him and his family alone. If only he’d been older when he died ...
“Nowhere is safe,” Hannah said, bitterly.
John glanced around, automatically, as she spoke. Speaking to a strange man ... their mother would be furious. Konrad would be upset too. And Joel ...
“No one is going to hurt you here,” the man said. He pointed to the giant warehouse as another flight of shuttles screamed overhead. “Go get something to eat and drink, then wait.”
John met his eyes. “For what?”
“For processing,” the man said, simply.
“Thank you,” Hannah said. “Who are you?”
“Constable Mike Whitehead,” the man said. He smiled at her. “But I suggest you move, now.”
John stared at him. “You’re a policeman?”
“Of course,” the policeman said. He sounded amused, rather than upset. “I’ve been a policeman for nearly seven years.”
But this man was a policeman?
“Move now,” the policeman advised. His voice was gentle, but firm. “There’ll be more people passing through in a moment.”
John caught Hannah’s arm and led her towards the warehouse, his mind spinning. A nice policeman? It was unthinkable. And yet, he was sure the policeman was a good guy. He hadn't looked at them with scorn or hatred, his eyes hadn't undressed Hannah - or John either, for that matter - he’d treated them like real people. What, he asked himself, did that mean?
And if the policemen are nice, he thought as they stepped into the giant building, what does that say about the rest of the world?
It wasn’t as dark as he’d feared inside the building. The fifty-odd shuttle passengers were clumped up at the far end, some lying on bedrolls while others were eating from small ration packs. Joel and a couple of others were trying to rig up a shelter for the women, hiding them from the couple of locals near the main doors. John rolled his eyes, then took a ration pack and a bedroll for himself. Hannah took one too, then winked at him as they made their way down to the far end.
“Hold this,” Joel directed, holding out one end of a blanket. “And keep facing outwards.”
John nodded, unwilling to speak. The policeman had upended everything he’d feared about their new world. And he’d done it just by being a nice guy. And that meant ... what?
“Anyone who looks back will get a beating,” Joel added, raising his voice so everyone could hear. There was no disagreement. “The women are to have their privacy!”
Konrad coughed in agreement. He didn't look any better, John noted. His stepfather looked as if he were on the verge of outright collapse, as if the only thing keeping him upright was his cane. John knew he should feel guilty for thinking that, but it was hard to care. Konrad might have tried to do his duty by them, yet he put his own son first. John might have been less offended by that if Konrad hadn't been planning to marry Joel to Hannah.
But we’re not settled yet, he thought, as he shifted position. The next set of refugees were already spilling into the warehouse, led by a pair of Stewards. Joel hurried forward to talk to them, leaving the human shields alone. And they can't get married until they’re settled.
He yawned, suddenly. He wanted to sleep, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Joel probably hadn't thought to ask if the women could have a separate compartment all to themselves. Or perhaps he hadn't had time to make his wishes known ... no, that wasn't possible. Joel was very good at making his wishes known. Konrad practically gave him everything he wanted, without question. John’s father hadn't been quite so accommodating.
And if anyone gets a farm, John thought bitterly, it will be him.
He shook his head. The policeman had given him hope, but all he could do now was wait ...
... And see what happened next.
Chapter Eight
And then the Phase Drive was discovered. All of a sudden, high-speed interstellar traffic became possible. The result was an immediate land grab, resulting in the establishment of settlements all across the Sol Sector. These colonists either landed on worlds settled by the slowboats or established colonies before the slowboats arrived.
- Professor Leo Caesius. Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.
“You are to take their fingerprints and check them against the records,” Director Melbourne said. Judith listened as the older woman spoke, her voice tired. “If they don’t raise red flags, screen their blood, give them the vaccination injection and send them on to the next chamber.”
Judith nodded. She wasn't a qualified medic - although she did have a first aid badge - but any fool could handle an injector tab. Sitting down at the table, she ran her eye down the checklist, silently reminding herself of the potential dangers. Most people didn't have any bad reactions to broad-spectrum vaccines, but it was well to be careful. A bad reaction could be very dangerous.
But so could allowing them to set foot outside the spaceport without it, she thought, as she lifted her eyes and surveyed the room. Even bringing them down to the planet without a blood test could be dangerous.
The room itself was clean and sterile, mind-numbingly bland. Director Melbourne and her team had set up a row of six tables, crewed by her personnel. It would take hours, Judith knew, to get the refugees - or at least the ones who had already landed - through the screening process. And weeks, perhaps, to screen all fifty thousand Forsakers. The refugees had been landing for barely two hours and the hangars were already crammed with warm bodies.
At least they’re not on the ships any longer, Judith thought. She checked her terminal, then the alarm button as the main doors opened. That has to count for something, doesn't it?
“Form into lines,” Director Melbourne ordered. Her voice echoed in the air. “Once you have been screened, proceed immediately into the next chamber.”
The refugees started streaming into the room. Some looked dazed, glancing around as though they didn't quite know where they were; others looked tired or angry or just plain wary. Judith felt a stab of sympathy as the lines started to form up. The sooner they were through the screening process, the better. And yet, the refugees seemed to be milling about, rather than advancing forward. Why were they reluctant to move?
She looked up as a middle-aged woman limped towards her. Judith frowned - modern medicine would have fixed that in an hour, perhaps less - and then keyed her terminal as she motioned for the woman to sit down. She wore yet another shapeless dress, so baggy that Judith honestly wasn't sure if she was desperate to hide her body’s curves or really just incredibly fat. Her face looked disapproving, her eyes crossing Judith’s body in a manner that made Judith want to cover herself. She’d known jerk jocks who were more subtle about ogling her.
“Please, be seated,” she said. It crossed her mind, suddenly, that the woman might not speak Imperial Standard. Legally, everyone had to speak the same language, but a Forsaker community might have evaded the requirement. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
The woman eyed her, balefully. “Why?”
“We need to know who we are dealing with,” Judith said. She’d expected the refugees to be a little more grateful. “Do you have a birth certificate?”
“No,” the woman said.
Judith blinked. Everyone had a birth certificate, without exception. Imperial Law mandated it. She couldn't imagine any world, certainly not one as cosmopolitan as Tarsus, neglecting to issue birth certificates. Its population couldn’t travel off-world without one. Hell, the fines alone would have been disastrous.
“You never had a birth certificate?”
“It was stolen when we were deported,” the woman said. Her voice twisted, bitterly. “It isn't important.”
Judith swallowed the urge to correct her, sharply. Birth certificates were important. How else would anyone know the woman’s history? But there was no point in demanding a certificate the woman didn't have. She shook her head, then leaned forward.
“Name?”
“Alicia, Daughter of Bridget,” the woman said. “Mother of Sven and Elsa.”
Judith frowned. “Is your mother in the refugee party?”
“My mother died months ago,” Bridget said. “She was killed by a mob.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Judith said. The system wasn't set up to track Forsakers. The more traditional families didn't even have surnames. “And your children?”
“With their father,” Bridget said. She nodded to the rear, then turned and motioned them forward. “They’re sweet kids.”
; Judith kept her face impassive as Sven, Elsa and a middle-aged man she assumed was their father appeared behind Bridget. Both children looked to be in their early teens, although their clothes were so baggy it was hard to be sure. Sven took one look at her, then looked away; Elsa eyed her expressionlessly, her eyes flickering over Judith’s face. Judith looked back at her for a long moment, wondering what was going through the girl’s mind. Her brother, blushing furiously, was easy to read. And their father ... Judith couldn’t help feeling that he was looking at her as if she was something particularly nasty he’d scraped off his shoe.
She entered their details into the database, then held out the scanner. “I need to check your blood, just to make sure you’re not carrying anything dangerous,” she said. “Bare your upper arms, please.”