Culture Shock

by Christopher Nuttall

  Weak, he thought, as he pushed Hannah into the maze of tents. A very weak world.

  ***

  Mike and his squad had been sitting in the break room, drinking coffee, when the panic alarm sounded. They grabbed their equipment, checked the location of the emergency beacon and ran out of the compartment, pounding down the empty corridors. There was no one to be seen in the office, but he could hear someone shouting and screaming in the distance. He hastily updated the captain, back in the control tower, then led the way down towards the doors. The tents were pressing against the building wall, but it was easy to see the small group of men carrying a young woman. They’d be out of sight in a moment ...

  He blew his whistle automatically, then ran forward. Most people would stop, if they heard a police whistle, but the Forsakers only picked up speed. Mike cursed - there were too many potential hostiles in a very small space - and hurried after them, drawing his truncheon as he moved. There was no time to summon reinforcements or seal off the area, not when a young girl was at risk. Mike had no idea why a group of Forsakers would carry her into their midst, but it couldn't be anything good.

  “Let go of her,” he barked, as the group slowed. There was another woman, he saw; a Forsaker girl, being pushed along by a man. She, at least, was on her feet. “Let go of her now!”

  A Forsaker turned to face him, bringing up his fists. Mike cursed again - there seemed to be no way to avoid a fight - and rapped the truncheon straight into the man’s arms. He gasped in pain, but kept coming. Mike gritted his teeth, then cracked the truncheon into the man’s jaw, sending him tumbling to the ground. The blow shouldn't have caused permanent damage, he told himself, but it would put the man out of commission for a while. And he’d need proper medical attention soon.

  The man holding the girl’s legs let go of them, his face purpling with rage. Mike didn't hesitate, not any longer. He knocked the man down, just in time to see the other kidnapper letting go of the girl completely. Mike took a swing at him with the truncheon - he jumped back, avoiding the blow - and then scooped the girl up in a fireman’s carry. She seemed utterly terrified, her eyes wide with fear. He didn't know if she could walk or not ...

  He sucked in his breath as he saw dozens of young men emerging from the tents, their faces twisted with rage. Someone was shouting in a language he didn't recognise, the chant hastily being picked up by the newcomers as they closed in. Mike glanced at the rest of his squad, then nodded back towards the doors. It was time to take off the gloves. They would be trapped and beaten to death if they stayed where they were.

  “Move,” he snapped.

  It wasn't easy to use his truncheon while carrying the girl, but there was no choice. His squad fell in around him as they made their way back towards the door, lashing out at anyone who came too close. A shower of rocks and pieces of rubbish pelted down around them, but the aim wasn't very good. Or perhaps they wanted to scare him, rather than actually hit him. He had to admit, as he ducked a blow from a young man, that it was working. The sheer murder in the air was terrifying. He knew they’d be in trouble if they stopped.

  The reinforcements should have gotten here by now, he thought, as he knocked a young man out of the way. He was vaguely aware of something hitting his leg, but he was too het up to care. Where the hell are they?

  He gritted his teeth as the squad forced open the doors, then hurried into the building. The Forsakers seemed torn, unsure if they wanted to follow the squad or not. Mike took a moment to catch his breath, keying his radio and calling a medic as well as additional reinforcements. Where were they? The sound outside was growing louder, male voices rising into a hellish crescendo. He'd never seen or heard anything like it, not even in some of the more extreme training simulations. Even the riots after football matches weren't so ... so primal.

  The girl gasped, jerking against him. Mike carefully lowered her to the ground, hastily checking her body for injuries. There was a nasty red mark on her cheek and her clothes were rumpled, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. Her eyes were flickering from side to side in horror, as if her experiences had taken her sanity. Mike had been told that some people went catatonic, their minds shutting down when they could no longer endure their suffering, but he’d never seen it before. It just didn't happen on Arthur’s Seat.

  And where were those goddamned reinforcements?

  His radio buzzed. “Mike, you are to make your way to the main entrance and link up with us there,” Sergeant Cox said. “Can you reach it without assistance?”

  Mike exchanged a look with Constable Paul Smith. Sure, they could make it to the main entrance - the spaceport terminal seemed deserted - but what was going on? The reinforcements should have come after them by now. He glanced from face to face, assessing his squad’s situation, then nodded reluctantly. He’d just have to hope Cox knew what he was doing.

  “Sure,” he said, reluctantly. “We’re on our way.”

  The howling from outside was growing louder as he helped the girl to her feet, then swung her back over his shoulder. She let out a yelp of protest - she wasn't catatonic, part of his mind noted - but he ignored her as the squad started to jog down the empty corridor. He kept a firm grip on his truncheon, wishing - again - that they had some proper stunners. The dangers in using them too freely were more than matched by the risk of being overwhelmed and beaten to death.

  They could have killed us, he thought. It took an effort of will to keep his body from shaking helplessly. He’d been in danger before, but nothing like that. The Forsakers would have torn the policemen apart if they’d had a chance. They could have ...

  He pushed the thought aside as they jogged through a large terminal, passing a series of portraits hanging from the wall. One of them was missing, part of his mind noted. The paint behind where the missing portrait had been was brighter, somehow, than the remainder of the wall. He puzzled over it for a moment, his policeman’s instincts telling him that it was important. But it seemed utterly unimportant compared to the risk of a violent death.

  The faint noise of yet another shuttle, landing on the nearest pad, echoed through the building. He wondered, suddenly, just what was going to happen to the latest set of newcomers. They’d have to stay in the warehouses until the whole mess was sorted out ... hell, he wasn't entirely sure just how many Forsakers were on the ground. Upwards of twenty thousand were supposed to have passed through the reception zone and been registered ...

  The tent city is going to have to be expanded, again, he thought, numbly. Digging ditches for their shit is going to be quite hard enough.

  He let out a sigh of relief as they reached the main entrance. Sergeant Cox was standing there, a grim-faced medic right next to him. Dozens of policemen were clearly visible outside, some of them wearing protective armour. Mike had to suppress a flicker of envy at the sight. The armour wasn't mil-spec. It wasn't even close. But it was better than his uniform. He carefully lowered the girl to the ground - she refused to allow him to lay her down - and turned to the Sergeant.

  “Sarge,” he said. It was a struggle to keep his tone respectful. “Where the hell were our reinforcements?”

  “Held back,” Cox said. “The director felt they couldn't be sent into the chaos.”

  Mike stared at him, unable to quite comprehend what he was hearing. He’d been told time and time again, in basic training and on the streets, that policemen supported one another. A cop in trouble had to be able to rely on his fellows. And his squad had been left on their own, in the midst of a howling mob ...

  He found his voice. “We could have died!”

  “I know, Constable,” Cox said. He sounded bitter. “It was a political decision.”

  Mike felt his mouth drop open. Politicians made the laws, but they didn't interfere with actual policing. It had been the rule, ever since Arthur’s Seat had been settled. The police were meant to be free of political interference. Hell, he couldn't think of any police officer who was a member of a political party. Policemen had t
he vote, of course, but actively campaigning on behalf of a party ... it wasn't done.

  “I’m sorry, but the orders were to hold back,” Cox told him. “Captain Stewart is sealing off the spaceport now.”

  It wasn't his fault, Mike told himself, grimly. He didn't have a choice.

  He swallowed, hard. “Sarge, there was another girl,” he added. “They were dragging her into the tents.”

  Cox sighed. “Put it on your report,” he said. “Right now, we have other concerns.”

  Mike blinked. “Sarge ...”

  “Report to the outer fence,” Cox ordered, shortly. “And save the rest of the grumbling for later.”

  Not his fault, Mike thought, again.

  He glanced at the girl they’d rescued, feeling a hot flush of ... shame. They’d saved one of the girls, but the other was lost. He had no idea what was in store for her ... he suspected, deep inside, that it wouldn't be pleasant. The police were sworn to protect everyone on the planet and they’d failed. Their political masters had prevented them from carrying out their duty.

  Resisting the urge to tell Cox precisely what he thought of the whole affair, he turned and strode towards the gates. He did have his orders, after all. But afterwards ... he looked down at the silver badge on his uniform, the badge he’d been given when his first mentor had cleared him for street service. He’d thought the badge meant something, at the time. But now ...

  He closed his eyes in pain. They'd failed. And he couldn't help thinking that there was worse to come.

  ***

  Joel kept a firm grip on Hannah as the sounds of the riot faded away behind them, unwilling to take the risk of her breaking free and running. The police had been a surprise, even though they’d made no attempt to snatch Hannah as well as the Outsider girl. But then, they probably didn't give a damn about her. The police on Tarsus hadn't cared about Forsakers either. They’d certainly dismissed any reports of Forsaker girls being molested - or worse - by the locals.

  “You shouldn't have been talking to Outsiders,” he lectured, as they reached the hotel and marched inside. He’d already rebuked the men on the doors for allowing Hannah to leave, although they'd all sworn blind they hadn't seen her pass. “Do you know what they could do to you?”

  Hannah gave him an angry look, but said nothing. Joel reflected, not for the first time, that she’d inherited all her father’s determination and bloody-minded stubbornness. Those traits would have been considered admirable, if they’d surfaced in John, but instead ... he shook his head in grim amusement. A young man could be stubborn. But a young woman ...

  He swung her around to face him as soon as they were alone. She met his eyes defiantly, instead of lowering them as a properly brought up young girl would do. Merely being alone with him was bad for her reputation, even if they were engaged. But that wouldn't be a problem, after they were married. He’d make sure of it.

  A thought struck him and he smiled. If John had half his sister’s nerve, Hannah would have had a far more agreeable life.

  Hannah’s face darkened. “Let go of me.”

  “Not yet,” Joel said. He pushed her against the wall, firmly enough to make it clear that she was in his power. “How did you leave the building?”

  She sneered at him. “Your guards let me go.”

  “Lying is bad for the soul,” Joel said. He knew the guards. He’d chosen them personally, making sure they knew that Hannah was not to leave. And she’d somehow sneaked past them. “How did you leave the building?”

  “I walked,” Hannah said, mockingly.

  Joel allowed his anger to show on his face. They weren’t married. He had no right to touch her. But if she thought he would ... she stared back at him, utterly unwilling to bend. The sudden surge of anger shocked him, more than he cared to admit. He lifted his hand, then lowered it again. Was she deliberately trying to provoke him?

  He pulled her forward and marched her down the corridor. “Your mother will deal with you,” he said, sharply. “And I suggest you listen to her.”

  Hannah snorted. “The way you listen to your father?”

  “I have always loved and honoured my father,” Joel said, stiffly. “And he is your stepfather too.”

  He shoved her into the room, then turned and hurried back to the campsite. The near-riot had faded, but he needed to make preparations. If the police were weak - and it certainly looked as though they were weak - it opened up all sorts of possibilities. Perhaps he could move forward faster than he had planned.

  And he had to be ready.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The result was utter catastrophe. The locals were unwilling to help the miners; the miners wanted booze, women and supplies the locals couldn’t or wouldn’t provide. A string of nasty incidents led to outright civil war, then the deployment of corporate police forces to protect the mines.

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

  Judith couldn't stop herself from shaking.

  She sat in the makeshift office, her entire body shaking helplessly. The police medic had confirmed that she was uninjured, save for the nasty bruise on her face, but she just couldn't keep herself from shaking. She'd been taught how to defend herself, how to use a knife and a gun, yet she had been yanked out of the office and dragged into the campsite as easily as if she’d been a rag doll. No matter how hard she rubbed her skin, she couldn't get rid of the sensation of hands touching her.

  It was strange. They hadn't groped her. They hadn't touched her breasts or buttocks or tried to slip their hands between her legs. There hadn't been anything remotely sexual in their touch. And yet, she still felt dirty. She felt helpless. They could have done anything to her and she couldn't have stopped them.

  She rested her head in her hands as she remembered Hannah. The police hadn't grabbed her, had they? They’d been too focused on Judith herself ... she thought. All of her memories from the moment she’d been dragged out of the office were jumbled, everything blurring together into a distorted mess. She thought Hannah’s stepbrother had been among the men who’d grabbed her, but she couldn't swear to it. And she couldn't identify the one who’d slapped her either.

  Her cheek hurt. She touched it lightly, remembering the nasty bruise she’d seen on Hannah’s face. Hannah ... what were they doing to her? They wouldn't kill her, would they? But what would they do? Judith’s father had never treated her like a child, once she’d proved she could handle the responsibility of being an adult. Hannah ... Hannah seemed to be constantly treated like a child, even though she was a mature adult. Who knew what they’d do to her?

  Judith shook her head, sourly. She liked Hannah. It wasn't easy to form a connection with someone she’d just met, but Hannah had been strikingly forward for a Forsaker. She had nerve, Judith had to admit. The mere act of asking questions was strikingly brave, when one ran the risk of being punished. And Hannah had no one willing or able to help her.

  The door rattled. Judith looked up, just in time to see Director Melbourne stepping into the office. The older woman looked irked, her eyes passing over Judith as if she was staring at something small and slimy. Judith felt a hot flash of anger, twisting her body to check that her personal com was still in place. She didn't give a damn about the director’s threats, not any longer. Being in jail was starting to seem preferable to remaining in the spaceport.

  “Miss Parkston,” Director Melbourne said, shortly. “What were you doing with that girl?”

  Judith felt a hot flash of anger. “She’s in trouble,” she said, standing. “We have to help her.”

  “She is not the issue right now,” Director Melbourne said. “What were you doing with her?”

  Judith stared at her for a long moment. “Hannah was hiding from her family,” she said, finally. “They were abusing her ...”

  She paused, then went through the whole story from the beginning. “They dragged us both out,” she concluded. “They ... they were going to hurt me.”

  “You don'
t know that,” Director Melbourne said.

  Judith pointed a finger at her cheek. “Yes, I do,” she said. “And they’re definitely going to hurt Hannah!”

  Director Melbourne didn't seem to care. “You had orders not to speak to any of the refugees,” she said, firmly. “Why did you disobey orders?”

  Judith stared at her. “Are you serious?”

  “The orders were issued to prevent problems,” Director Melbourne said, sharply. “Young lady, you talking to a refugee has sparked off a crisis.”

  “No, it didn't,” Judith said. “I ...”

  She allowed her voice to trail off. Director Melbourne was mad. She had to be mad. Judith had been raised to recognise when she was responsible for a problem and this was not one of those times. The refugees were responsible for their own actions. She hadn't done anything to them. No reasonable person could possibly object to Judith and Hannah having a quiet chat.