William rose, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He’d written and rewritten his speech several times over the last few days, as the polls and political discussions veered backwards and forwards. Sondra and her spin doctors had urged him to go in one direction; his personal advisors had urged him to go in the other. William had done his best to strike a middle ground, but he knew it wouldn't be easy. There had been too much fear-mongering over the last couple of days.
At least we managed to start getting the refugees through the blood screenings, he thought, as he surveyed the room. The spaceport isn't about to explode.
“Mr. Speaker, Honourable Members of Parliament,” he said. “I shall be brief. And I shall be blunt.
“These refugees did not ask to be dumped on us, any more than we asked to take them. They were uprooted from their homes on Tarsus and shipped across the interstellar void to us. We cannot blame them for their arrival. And there is nothing we can do to keep the Imperial Navy from landing the remaining refugees at the spaceport.”
He kept his face impassive, even though he knew that would be used against him. No one liked admitting to helplessness. Hell, his government could be blamed for not investing in more starships and orbital defences worthy of the name. But Arthur’s Seat wasn't wealthy enough to build a real defence force. Successive governments had never seen the need.
“This crisis is not of our making,” he continued. “But there is no way to avoid coming to grips with it. The bill, which I trust you have all read, allocates emergency funding to feed, clothe and shelter the refugees until they find their footing and integrate into our society. It does not drain resources earmarked for elsewhere.”
There was a long pause. “I do not pretend that this will be easy. Until now, our society has only received a relative handful of immigrants. Indeed, over the last decade, we received no more than five thousand immigrants, a drop in the bucket. The challenges of absorbing so many newcomers at the same time are immense. But I believe we can turn the situation to our advantage.
“We have ample land that can be turned into farms,” he concluded. “We have an entire continent that is largely empty. There is space enough for all of the refugees and more besides, allowing us to expand our settlements. Let us view this, not as a disaster, but as an opportunity.”
He sat down. The speech had been received in silence, something that bothered him. MPs were supposed to be polite, but the absence of cheers or boos was odd. It suggested that most of them had already made up their minds, after reading the bill.
The Speaker cleared his throat. “I call upon the Leader of the Opposition,” he said. “Mr. Troutman, the floor is yours.”
Troutman rose. He looked surprisingly insolent for a middle-aged man, but that - William rather suspected - was part of his charm. Freeholders loved to consider themselves independent, defiant loners standing against the forces of nature and human government. It was an affectation, just as much as the suit and tie William wore, but it played well to his supporters. Troutman wasn't stupid enough to try to blend in at the price of abandoning his links to the voters.
“Thank you,” Troutman said. He nodded to William. “Like my honourable friend, I shall be brief and blunt.
“This crisis is not of our making. The endless series of disasters washing over the galaxy, of which this is just one, are also not of our making. And I simply refuse to recognise that we have any moral obligation to put our lives and positions at risk to help solve this ... this refugee crisis.”
He paused, dramatically. “I was born on a farm. I was raised in a community where assisting others was considered the highest good. But it was never expected that I - that any of us - would be called upon to risk our families, our properties, everything we had to help our neighbours. And it was certainly never expected that we would be obliged to risk everything to help people who managed to get themselves into a mess.
“I can and I do choose to risk my life. But I do not choose to risk my wife, my children or my neighbours. And I do not concede that anyone has the right to say otherwise.
“My honourable friend has understated the true scale of the problem. We are looking at fifty thousand unwanted immigrants, all being dumped on our soil. The five thousand immigrants he mentioned earlier did not arrive as a group. No - they arrived in dribs and dabs and were easily integrated. Fifty thousand immigrants, perhaps more, is a solid mass that will take years to integrate, if they can be integrated at all.
“It has been two days since the first shuttles landed. In that time, we have seen everything from refusals to be vaccinated to episodes of sexual harassment and assault. I am sorry for whatever the refugees have undergone, but I do not view it as an excuse for bad behaviour here. And I certainly do not believe we have any obligation to help people who behave badly towards us.”
He nodded towards William. “Our government does not agree,” he stated. “Our government is prepared to compromise our principles rather than stand up for them. Tell me - when does it end? Which principles remain untouchable when the government has already wavered? A deadly precedent has already been set!
“I am sorry for men, women and children who have been torn from their homes, dumped on freighters and shipped into the interstellar void,” he concluded. “But I am not prepared to tolerate bad behaviour, nor am I prepared to put the entire planet at risk to support a plague of human locusts too stupid or entitled to realise that they need us. Honourable members, I ask you to vote against the bill.”
There was a loud buzz of chatter. William tuned it out as he tried to gauge the odds. The speech had scored a few good points, but he doubted it would change many minds. Troutman would know it too, which meant ... what? An attempt to come to terms with the government, an attempt to rewrite the bill or an outright challenge to William’s position? Maybe they’d have to have a private chat during recess ...
The speaker tapped for silence, again. “Honourable Members, Honourable Members,” he said. “Please! If you wish to speak, please signal for notice!”
Sondra keyed her button. The speaker nodded to her, inviting her to rise.
“Mr. Speaker, Honourable Friends,” she said. “May I ask my honourable friend” - she nodded to Troutman - “precisely what he meant by calling the refugees human locusts?”
She went on before Troutman had a chance to respond. “These are not numbers,” she continued, her voice shaking with rage. “These are living people! They have lives and families, loves and hates ... they do not deserve to be demeaned by dehumanising insults and threats from - forgive me - a man who has enjoyed a safe and secure childhood. No one, including the refugees, asked for this nightmare. But we should attempt to deal with it without dehumanising them.”
Troutman signalled for attention as Sondra sat down. “In an ideal universe, I would agree with you,” he said. “But an ideal universe would be a post-scarcity society where there was infinite supplies of food, drink and ... and everything. We do not live in an ideal universe and I flatly refuse to put my people at risk to feed outsiders.”
He paused, then went on. “Are we supposed to put the interests of refugees ahead of the interests of our whole population?”
William sighed, inwardly, as the debate raged on. Constitutionally, every MP was entitled to have his say, either making speeches to the chamber at large or demanding clarification from the senior members. He wondered, as he rose to defend the bill for the umpteenth time, just how many people were still watching the debate through the datanet. It probably wouldn't have changed their minds.
And even if it did, he thought morbidly, it would be too late.
“Order, order,” the Speaker thundered. “Are there any new questions?”
A Unionist MP bleeped for attention. “On a point of order, Mr. Speaker,” he said. “Should the Leader of the Opposition not be censured for his earlier remarks about locusts?”
William resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands as the chamber dissolved into shouts and ca
tcalls from all sides. Trying to censure an MP was asking for trouble. Indeed, it had only happened twice in three hundred years. Half the Empire Loyalists would vote against the motion, regardless of how they felt about the issue. No MP could tolerate an attempt to shut them up. William hadn't liked the locust comment any more than Sondra herself, but trying to penalise Troutman for it was - at best - a waste of time.
And at worst it will provoke a political crisis at the worst possible time, he thought. It could lead straight to a vote of no-confidence.
The Speaker clearly agreed. “That is not a relevant point of order,” he said, firmly. A low clunk echoed through the air as the voting doors were thrown open. “I call upon the MPs to rise and vote.”
William stood, leading his MPs towards the aye door. He'd often thought the whole procedure needed to be modified - it wouldn't be hard to give the MPs the ability to vote without leaving their seats - but he had to admit it had a certain grandeur that would be lacking in a modern system. And besides, it made it harder to cheat. Arthur’s Seat didn't have as many problems with computer hackers as some other worlds, but that would change if there was something worth hacking. What would happen, he asked himself, if someone fiddled with the system to make sure it returned the right result.
He passed through the door, nodding to the Whips on either side. They’d be silently counting up the votes too, making sure there were no mistakes. A dispute could lead to a recount, causing all sorts of problems. The MPs wouldn't be pleased if they had to go through the whole procedure again.
If only because their party bosses will know which way they intended to vote, he thought, as he spotted a pair of Freeholders stepping through the door. Troutman would give them hell for defying him, afterwards. William would have been amused, if he hadn't noticed a number of Empire Loyalists passing through the other door. Perhaps the defections will balance out.
There was a long pause as the whips compared notes, then spoke quickly to the Speaker. “In favour, two hundred and nineteen,” the speaker announced. “Against, two hundred and twelve. Abstain, sixty-nine.”
Which includes the two treacherous cowards, William thought. The government had won, barely. Two hundred and nineteen was enough MPs to pass the bill, but nowhere enough to keep the Opposition from challenging it. A mere six MPs choosing to change their minds would turn everything upside down. I’ll have to refight the entire battle from the start.
“The bill is passed,” the Speaker said. He thumped his staff on the ground, again. “This session of Parliament is hereby dismissed.”
He rose, signalling the end of the session. The doors were flung open a moment later, a number of MPs hurrying to get to the toilets before it was too late. William didn't move, thinking dark thoughts about traitors and backroom deals. Unless he missed his guess - and he doubted he was that lucky - the bill had only passed because of the Unionists. And Pamela Davis would want something in exchange for her support.
Unless her supporters turn on her, William thought. But they’re more likely to back the Opposition than us.
Sondra leaned over to speak to him. “Someone’s been talking.”
William looked up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Troutman knew things that weren’t put in the official reports,” Sondra said. Her voice was very grim. “And the vast majority of the aid workers weren't allowed to leave the spaceport after the shuttles began to land. Someone deliberately blabbed to the Opposition.”
“It happens,” William said. He spotted Pamela Davis on the other side of the room, clearly waiting for him. By long tradition, the parliamentary chamber itself was not used for backroom deals. “I imagine some of them wrote emails to their friends. Or called them.”
“That will have to stop,” Sondra said. “Troutman’s going to use these ... these exaggerated rumours against us.”
“Then counter with the facts,” William said. He couldn't help thinking that she sounded personally offended. “And remember not to let him get to you.”
“He doesn't make that easy,” Sondra said.
“Politics,” William said. He reminded himself, sternly, that Sondra hadn't faced a direct challenge. She’d been in politics for most of her life, but she’d never faced a contested election. “He wants to make you look bad. Or emotional. Or otherwise untrustworthy. Your family history gives him plenty to beat you with, if you let him. If he succeeds in calling your judgement into question, he’ll win.”
Sondra scowled. “Is it wrong of me to care?”
“He cares too,” William said. The locusts remark had been out of line, but Troutman had a point. “You just care about different things.”
He rose. “The bill passed,” he added. It was time to find out what Pamela Davis wanted - and pray the price wasn't too high. “Let’s count our blessings, shall we?”
Chapter Thirteen
For example, the planet of New Jerusalem was settled by a deeply-religious sect who refused to use anything more advanced than steam technology (save, one assumes, for the starships they used to reach their promised land.) This sect abstained from alcohol, drugs and any other form of vice.
- Professor Leo Caesius. Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.
“Definitely not,” Judith said.
There was a low rumble of agreement. Director Melbourne looked shocked. She hadn't made herself particularly popular when she’d insisted that the aid workers had to stay or be jailed, something she didn't seem to have realised. And demanding that the aid workers turn over their portable coms ... it just wasn't done. She might just have gone a step too far.
“It is a legal requirement,” the director began, “that ...”
“No it fucking isn't,” a male voice shouted. “If that was true, you would have collected the coms back when we arrived.”
There was another rumble of agreement. Tempers had been fraying over the last two days, with rumours spreading out of control. Judith didn't know just how many of them were true, how many were exaggerated and how many were outright lies, but neither the policemen nor the director seemed to know either. It wasn't the most reassuring thing she’d heard. A flat denial would have been preferable.
“I need my com to talk to my parents,” a female voice added. “They’ll be worried about me.”
“They’ll be told what they need to know,” Director Melbourne insisted. “You’ll be fine.”
Judith snorted. She wasn't the only one. They were volunteers, damn it. They weren't soldiers - or slaves. None of them had signed up to be held in the spaceport, let alone deal with paranoid refugees from some world no one had ever heard of. And they were fast reaching their limits.
Director Melbourne tried to take control. “Deactivate your coms, then put them in the box,” she ordered. “And then ...”
“No,” the male voice said.
He turned and strode out of the room. There was a pause, then nearly everyone else rose too and headed for the door. Judith ignored Director Melbourne’s increasingly worried comments, ranging from threats to pleas, as she followed the rest of the group out the door and down the corridor. Half of them were already tapping on their coms, calling their parents or the media or someone before the police could confiscate the coms ... if, indeed, the police tried to confiscate the coms. God alone knew what would happen if they tried.
Judith glanced at her watch as she hurried down the stairwell. Gayle would be in class, unless classes had been cancelled for some inscrutable reason. Her father never answered unless she called in the evening. There was no one she could call. She brought up a chat room, posted a brief message about the demand, then closed down the com and peered out the window. She wasn't due on duty, back in the registry room, for another two hours. By then, Director Melbourne would either have given up or called the police.
I should never have signed up, she told herself.
She shook her head, bitterly. Her father had often helped his neighbours and vice versa - and they’d been properly grateful. Some
of her best memories centred around raising barns, building walls or other tasks that needed more hands than a single family could provide. But here ... she’d been stared at by men and women, told to mind her own business and generally treated like a slave. It was strange, almost unbelievable, to think that Gayle - her loving Gayle - came from the same roots. God alone knew what these Forsakers would say if they ever met her.
Nothing good, she thought.
The field outside the spaceport had almost completely disappeared under hundreds of tents, ranging from small two-person tents - Judith had shared one with her older brother back when she’d been a little girl - to a big top someone had borrowed from the local circus. She couldn't help feeling that it wasn't jolly any longer, now there were a pair of tough-looking young men standing guard outside. Dozens of men were in view, milling around as if they were desperate for something to do; there were no women, save for a handful who were following obediently behind their men. Judith wasn't one to question another person’s choice of lifestyle - her people didn't care what others did in the privacy of their own homes - but there was something almost sickening about it.
Culture Shock Page 13