Culture Shock

by Christopher Nuttall

  Bridget recoiled in shock. “You’re going to take blood?”

  “Yes,” Judith said. She felt her patience start to crack. The older man was still staring at her with deep hostility. “And when your blood has been tested, you will be given a vaccination to make sure you can live on our planet safely ...”

  “Out of the question,” the older man snapped. He pulled his children back. “We do not allow our children to be vaccinated.”

  Judith - barely - managed to refrain from asking how they’d survived on Tarsus. A cosmopolitan planet - and city - would have visitors from all over the galaxy. The prospect of catching something nasty, perhaps one of the innumerable variants of the common cold, couldn't be dismissed. Children normally received vaccinations at birth and booster shots throughout their lives, just to prevent diseases from spreading. Maybe they’d just been very lucky.

  “It's a requirement,” she said, glancing towards Director Melbourne. The older woman seemed to be in the middle of an agitated discussion with two of the other refugees. “If you don’t have your blood tested and your children screened, you can't leave the spaceport.”

  She looked up at him. He seemed torn between glaring at her and looking away, his face twitching as if he wasn't quite sure what to do. His son seemed torn too; his wife and daughter studiously looking away, allowing him to deal with the situation. Judith wondered, suddenly, just what sort of life the womenfolk endured. If they weren't allowed to have vaccinations, what else weren't they allowed to do?

  “We are not going to be staying here,” the man thundered. “We were promised land!”

  Judith flinched back as he waved his fist under her nose, her finger hitting the panic button as the crowd pushed forward, shouting in several different languages. She couldn't understand most of them, but it was clear that half the crowd didn't understand. They thought she intended to take all of their blood, then poison them. And Director Melbourne seemed entirely incapable of taking control.

  She half-rose, then stopped herself as the shouting grew louder. The police would be on their way, wouldn't they? And then ... and then what? More and more refugees were being landed, every hour on the hour. If they all refused to be vaccinated, the spaceport population would keep growing until the wire burst. And then ...

  Someone pushing at her table brought her back to reality. The crowd was pushing her back, pushing them all back. A terminal fell off a table, smashing to the ground; an aid worker, one of the youngest in the group, turned and fled. The sign of weakness seemed to embolden the crowd, just as the rear doors opened and a stream of policemen flowed into the room. It crossed Judith’s mind, just for a second, that the police weren't carrying any weapons ...

  ***

  Riots, Mike knew, were rare on Arthur’s Seat. The occasional football match might end badly, a few dozen people might have too much to drink and end up starting a fight ... but outright riots were rare. He’d never seen anything more dangerous than a drunken brawl in a pub after nightfall. Dealing with them wasn't too difficult ...

  ... But the scene before him was different. Hundreds of Forsakers were pressing forward, smashing their way through the tables and chairs by sheer weight of numbers. He couldn't understand half their words, but it was clear, just from what he did understand, that they were angry about something. Director Melbourne was doing her level best to calm the crowd, yet it was clear - even to her - that they weren't listening. There was a lot of pent-up frustration being released ...

  “Form up, truncheons out,” Sergeant Cox snapped. “Get the workers out first!”

  Mike winced. And then what?

  He cursed under his breath. The makeshift registration centre was no place for a fight, not when they didn't have any stunners or anything else that could be used to control a riot. Two constables hurried over to the fire hose mounted on the wall and started to get it ready for use, but he doubted it would be enough to do more than drench the rioters. Perhaps it would bring them back to sanity, perhaps it would just make them mad. But they were already mad.

  “We keep them in here,” Cox added. He’d put in a call for reinforcements as soon as the alert had sounded. “And we don’t let them out!”

  Mike gritted his teeth as he took a firmer grip on his truncheon. He’d rarely needed to use it, not outside combat training. It was designed more for intimidation than anything else - and even that was considered a last resort. But now, with a mob advancing on him, he wanted something more solid. A gun ... the police didn't use guns, not on Arthur’s Seat, but perhaps it was time they changed. They didn't normally face rioters bent on tearing them apart either.

  They’ll be summoning a posse, he told himself. There just weren't many other policemen within easy reach of the spaceport. But will they get here in time?

  The mob surged forward, shouting and screaming; the constables turned the hose on them, playing the water over their bodies. Mike watched in relief as the crowd came apart, their bodies drenched in cold water. They didn't seem inclined to keep going, thankfully. But he knew that wouldn't last. Standard procedure was to break up a riot into smaller, more manageable groups, but there were too many people confined within too small a place. The Forsakers outside the compartment would just keep pushing into the room ...

  “Enough,” a voice said.

  Mike stared. An older man - probably in his fifties, although it was impossible to be sure - had clambered onto one of the tables. He looked formidable as he harangued the crowd in a language Mike couldn't understand, although the tone was clear. The crowd was being stupid and needed to stop. Mike wasn't sure if he should admire the man’s nerve - it took courage to berate an angry crowd - or suspect trouble. Was the man their leader? Or was he trying to take advantage of the near-riot?

  Fuck, he thought, morbidly.

  The crowd, looking surprisingly shamefaced, started to inch out of the room. Mike watched them go, unsure if he should be relieved or worried. Training or no training, a fight in close quarters would probably have gotten a lot of police and refugees killed. They hadn't practiced riot suppression in months. It had just never seemed important.

  Director Melbourne looked badly shaken. “Thank you for coming.”

  “You’re welcome,” Cox said. “What now?”

  Mike ignored the brief discussion as he glanced around the room. Tables had been tipped over, computer terminals lay on the floor ... they were designed to be tough, he knew, but would they survive the combination of the impact and water damage? The aid workers looked shocked, two almost looked catatonic. None of them had expected the refugees to turn nasty, all of a sudden. A handful had already started to put the tables back upright and test the computers. Mike wasn’t sure if he should applaud their resilience or be concerned about their refusal to grasp what had just happened.

  “We let too many people in at once,” Director Melbourne said. She sounded stunned - and frustrated. “And others followed them in.”

  “You’ll need to be more careful,” Cox said. His voice was grim. “What set them off?”

  An aid worker - the girl Mike had met earlier - leaned forward. “They objected to blood tests and vaccinations, sir,” she said. She sounded shaken, although she looked unharmed. Her shirt was wet, clinging to her body in a manner that made Mike look away hastily. “That’s what set them off.”

  Mike frowned. The original Forsakers had forbidden genetic enhancements, if he recalled correctly. He couldn't remember if they banned vaccinations or not, but the vast majority of modern-day vaccinations were designed to splice improvements into a person’s genome. Or so he thought. It hadn't been covered at school and he’d been more concerned with first aid than long-term medical treatments during his training.

  “They need them,” Director Melbourne said. “We can't let them pass through the gates unless we’re sure they’re safe.”

  She closed her eyes for a long moment. “It will have to be referred to higher authority.”

  Mike wasn't surprised. Dire
ctor Melbourne hadn't struck him as the type of person who would pass the buck, but the whole situation had already spun out of control. Either she insisted on the refugees taking the vaccinations anyway - probably restarting the riot - or she waived the requirement, which would run the risk of triggering a health crisis. And he honestly wasn't sure if they could stop another riot so quickly.

  They’ve discovered that they can intimidate us, he thought, sourly. It was a chilling realisation. Most people he dealt with respected the uniform, even if they didn't respect him personally. None of the newcomers would have that experience. And we’re not allowed to intimidate them.

  “See to it,” Cox urged. He reached for his radio. “I’ll get the reinforcements briefed.”

  “Can you station some men here?” Director Melbourne asked. “It might keep the situation from getting out of control.”

  It’s already out of control, Mike thought. And that isn't going to change.

  He glanced at her. “Can you stop the inflow of refugees?”

  “I can try,” Director Melbourne said. She didn't sound optimistic. “But the Imperial Navy is trying to get them down as quickly as possible.”

  Mike nodded, running through the math in his head. There were fifty thousand refugees in total, give or take a few hundred souls who’d been overlooked. Assuming that two thousand were landed every hour, there were at least four thousand refugees on the ground now and another two thousand incoming. By the time the government made its decision, there might be upwards of ten thousand refugees on the ground ... by which point the spaceport would be bursting at the seams. It just hadn’t been designed to hold so many people.

  They can't keep dumping so many people into a confined space, he thought. There were definite limits, surely. Even converting the entire spaceport into a refugee camp wouldn't provide enough space. But will they just start dumping them outside the spaceport?

  “Mike, Joe, Roger, stay here and look intimidating until the captain gets here,” Cox ordered, briskly. If he resented being left in the hot seat, he showed no sign of it. “I’m going to talk to the leader.”

  “Just ask them to take you to their leader, Sarge,” Constable Johan said.

  Cox gave him a stern look, then allowed Director Melbourne to lead him towards the rear doors. Mike took a moment to admire his nerve - walking into an angry crowd might easily get him killed - then cursed under his breath. They’d need to get more weapons - and training - before it was too late. And he honestly wasn’t sure if the weapons they needed were anywhere on the planet.

  Perhaps we should ask the Imperial Navy to lend us some spacesuits, he thought. He made a mental note of the idea, intending to pass it on to his superiors as soon as possible. They’d serve as makeshift armour if we couldn't get anything better.

  He cursed under his breath as the reinforcements arrived, led by Captain Stewart. Stewart had been at the other side of the spaceport when the riot began, Mike knew, but that didn't stop him feeling a flicker of resentment. It was unfair - he knew it was unfair - yet he felt it anyway. Stewart should have been with his men, facing the danger ... a danger they weren't trained to face. Hell, it wasn't as if Arthur’s Seat had a real army. The Orbital Guard wasn't a military in anything more than name.

  Of course not, he thought. We never saw the need to build starships and raise an army.

  He shuddered at the thought. The police were the closest thing to a professional military on Arthur’s Seat and, really, very few of them had any experience with firearms or military tactics. But he had a nasty feeling that was about to change.

  Chapter Nine

  Unsurprisingly, this led to conflict. The settlers might not be willing or able to integrate the newcomers. Worse, the side with FTL could and did bring in help from Earth. The slowboaters tended to get the worst of these conflicts because they hadn't thought to prepare for a war when they reached their destination.

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

  Joel had to fight to keep the glee off his face.

  It had worked perfectly. Hell, it had worked better than he’d expected. And he hadn't really had to do anything, beyond making sure his friends and allies were ready to take advantage of the chaos. Something had been bound to happen, someone had been bound to protest, when the community was told they needed to be vaccinated. And someone had. The only real surprise had been his father standing up and quieting the crowd before matters got even further out of hand ...

  He still has influence, Joel thought. But does he have enough influence to make a difference?

  The waiting room was surprisingly quiet. Being drenched had shocked the Forsakers, even before Konrad had opened his mouth. A number of girls were trying, desperately, to hide themselves, their fathers and brothers forming protective circles around them. Their humiliation wouldn't be forgotten in a hurry. Indeed, a deep anger was burning through the room, threatening further trouble in the future. Konrad had calmed them, for the moment, but that wouldn't last. It wouldn't be long before the issue of vaccinations reared its ugly head again.

  Konrad rose from his squatting position as the door opened, revealing a man and a woman stepping into the room. The woman looked shaken - Joel felt a flicker of cold satisfaction - while the man looked grim. His uniform marked him out as a person of authority, even though Joel found it hard to believe he was really a policeman. What sort of policeman didn't carry a gun? Or a stunner? Or a neural whip? The blue uniform made him look like an actor, not a very dangerous man.

  He followed his father as he walked to greet the newcomers, trying not to stare too openly at the woman as he basked in her discomfiture. A woman should not try to assert authority over men, over the outside world. Nothing but embarrassment and humiliation would result. Joel would no more take orders from a woman than he would invade the female quarters and start cooking for himself. Women had their place, just as men did. People who tried to live in both worlds were doomed to disappointment.

  “Greetings,” the woman said. Even her voice sounded shaky, as if she had no true authority of her own. Clearly, she’d been allowed to think she had authority. “Who are you?”

  “I am Konrad, Elder and First Speaker,” Konrad said. He addressed the policeman, rather than the woman. “Our people will not be vaccinated.”

  The woman’s face twisted. “You need to be vaccinated, if only to make sure you do not catch any diseases,” she said, bluntly. “Your people will be vulnerable to diseases on our world.”

  She paused. “And you will not be allowed to leave the spaceports without registering, having your blood tested and being vaccinated,” she added. “You’ll be spending the rest of your lives in the spaceport complex.”

  Joel rather doubted it. He hadn't seen much of the spaceport, but he doubted it could hold over ten thousand people at once. Tarsus had uprooted and deported dozens of Forsaker communities. Cramming them all into the spaceport would be utterly disastrous. He had no doubt sheer numbers alone would allow them to break out and escape.

  “I will not force my people to inject themselves with the demon technology,” Konrad said, firmly. “It would be wrong.”

  The policeman leaned forward. “How did you escape vaccinations on Tarsus?”

  “The government chose not to vaccinate us,” Konrad said.

  It was true enough, Joel knew. He had a private suspicion that the government had quietly hoped that something particularly nasty would reduce the Forsaker population to a more manageable level. He'd certainly used the suggestion to convince his allies that fighting was the only option, particularly when the government might eventually use more direct methods to rid itself of a problem. But they had escaped infection, proving that the Forsakers had been right all along. The demon technology brought misery in its wake.

  “Our government is less equipped to deal with health problems,” the woman said. She paused. “At the very least, we need to be sure you’re not carrying diseases.”

  J
oel felt a flicker of triumph. A sign of weakness, already! If they were prepared to compromise on vaccinations, what else were they prepared to compromise on? Blood tests weren't as bad as vaccinations, as far as the Forsakers were concerned ... they took something out, rather than putting something in.

  “We are clean,” Konrad insisted, firmly. “None of us are diseased.”

  “We didn't mean to say that you were,” the woman told him. “But we have to be sure before we let you leave the spaceport.”

  “We also need to register your population,” the policeman added. “Why don’t you have birth certificates?”

  “Tarsus wasn't interested in issuing them either,” Konrad said.

  And the ones they did issue were stolen or destroyed, Joel thought. He allowed himself a cold smile. Passive resistance hadn't gotten them very far, but it was something. And I sold a number of official birth certificates to raise money.