Culture Shock

by Christopher Nuttall

  But the Forsakers have a different view of the universe, she thought, numbly. She touched her chin, feeling the dull ache pulsing under the bruised skin. Hannah admitted as much.

  “You will remain in this office until I can deal with you properly,” Director Melbourne added, firmly. “Give me your com.”

  “No,” Judith said.

  “This isn't a game any longer,” Director Melbourne snapped. “Give me your com!”

  Judith hesitated. Director Melbourne wasn't kidding. If she refused ... she found it hard to imagine the older woman trying to take the com, but Director Melbourne could easily call the police and have Judith arrested. If she was more interested in humouring the Forsakers than protecting her people, she might try to have Judith held in a cell for several days before letting her make a phone call. Judith didn't think the government could hold her for more than a day without charging her - it had been several years since civics class - but Director Melbourne might just be able to do it.

  “Fine,” she said. She reached into her pocket and produced the com, using her fingerprint to lock it shut. Director Melbourne probably couldn't break the encryption, but there was no point in taking chances. “And I want a receipt.”

  Director Melbourne took the com, then turned and strode out of the office, closing the door behind her. Judith rolled her eyes as she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, then rose and paced over to the door. She listened for any sign there was someone outside before twisting the doorknob, testing the lock. Unfortunately, the door refused to budge.

  This can't be legal, Judith thought, as she turned back to survey the office. There were two windows, but both of them were too small to accommodate anyone larger than a two-year-old toddler. And even if she had managed to open the window and crawl out, the office was at least five metres above the ground. How long can they hold me here?

  Shaking her head, she started to search the office more thoroughly. If she was lucky, there would be a computer terminal, an unlocked personal com or something else she could use to get the word out. And if not, she might find something that would keep her from going insane worrying about Hannah ...

  And there’s nothing else to do, she told herself. I can't do anything trapped in here.

  ***

  “We got the aid workers out of the spaceport, sir,” Cox said. He was speaking to Captain Stewart, but his voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “The officers on duty have orders to send all of the incoming refugees into the warehouses to wait.”

  Which won’t last forever, Mike thought. The warehouses were already crammed before the riot.

  He cursed under his breath as another shuttle appeared overhead, dropping down towards the spaceport. There might have been a riot on the ground, but the Imperial Navy was still dumping refugees onto the planet. He’d sensed a slight slackening in their efforts over the last few hours, yet it wasn't anything like enough to make a difference. The backlog of unregistered refugees was growing all the time.

  “Very good,” Stewart said.

  Mike rolled his eyes as he scanned the perimeter fence, silently relieved that neither of his superiors were looking at him. Captain Stewart was an experienced officer, but even a political boot-licker couldn't have made that sound convincing. And Stewart was no boot-licker. He knew the risks. Twenty constables were in the middle of the spaceport, too far from help if all hell broke loose ... again. Mike doubted the police outside the spaceport could get to them before it was too late.

  He scowled. The police had evacuated the aid workers and then withdrawn themselves, leaving the refugees with almost no supervision. God alone knew what was happening in the tent city. Mike couldn't help thinking about the girl they’d failed to save, the Forsaker girl ... God alone knew what was happening to her, too. It was time, he told himself firmly, to put all of their preconceptions aside. The newcomers had nothing in common with the citizens of Arthur’s Seat, not even the ones descended from Forsakers. And integrating them into the community would be one hell of a challenge.

  Another shuttle - and another, and another - flew over his head as the hours ticked by. The police patrolled the fence, waiting for orders from their superiors. But it was clear that there were no orders. Mike scanned the fence, wondering precisely what they were supposed to do if every last Forsaker tried to break it down and burst out into the countryside. The fence was tough, but it wasn't unbreakable. And the police had no serious weapons.

  They could reach Lothian in less than an hour, he thought, grimly. If only he had time to call his wife and tell her to bug out of town. But Captain Stewart would be furious if he made a personal call. And after that ...

  He shook his head. The media had been going wild about Steven Troutman calling the refugees locusts, but Mike couldn't help thinking that the bastard had a point. Mike had been an Empire Loyalist from the moment he’d reached voting age, yet the Empire Loyalists hadn't even tried to come to grips with the situation. And Director Melbourne had ordered the police to pull back, implicitly ceding the spaceport to the refugees. Mike knew enough about bargaining to know it was a bad idea to make concessions of any sort. It was hard, often near-impossible, to walk them back later.

  Maybe I’ll change my vote, he thought, as a group of young men appeared on the far side of the fence. It wasn't much, but it was all he had. The Freeholders seem to know what’s actually going on.

  ***

  Joel admitted, privately, that neither Adam nor Olaf would win prizes for intelligence. Both young men were too stupid to add two plus two and get four without a pocket calculator, a tool that was strictly forbidden in the commune. Joel wouldn't have trusted them to handle anything without supervision. They certainly couldn't be left alone with young women. But they were tough, loyal and utterly unquestioning. Their meaty fists had silenced quite a few people who would otherwise seek to challenge Joel’s position.

  “He broke my jaw,” Olaf mumbled. His jaw looked bruised and swollen, although Joel rather doubted it was broken. He’d seen worse injuries caused by fistfights and they had healed without medical intervention. “The Outsider broke my jaw!”

  “Yes,” Joel agreed. Adam wasn't looking much better, with a nasty bruise on his throat and another on his upper arm. “Adam?”

  “The bitch tried to hurt me,” Adam rasped. His voice sounded odd. “And the policeman hit me.”

  Joel nodded. The policemen had been weak. He knew, all too well, what would have happened on Tarsus. The police would have stormed the commune in force, using stunners and real guns against unarmed opponents. Adam didn’t realise it, but he’d been lucky. The whole affair had ended quickly and they’d learned something new about their unwilling hosts.

  “Hurt her,” Olaf said. “Really.”

  How lucky for Hannah, Joel thought, that she isn't marrying either of them.

  He scowled at the thought, turning away to check on the other injured. There would come a time, he suspected, when he would need to find Adam and Olaf wives. And that wasn't going to be easy, not when their reputations were worse than Hannah’s. They were too dumb to understand the role of a husband, let alone how they should treat their wives. Joel doubted that any father would be happy allowing them to marry his daughters. Luckily, it hadn't occurred to either of them - yet - that they could demand it of him in exchange for their service.

  The policemen had been surprisingly mild, compared to some of the others he’d met, but that hadn’t stopped them doing a great deal of damage. Twelve men had bumps and bruises; five had broken bones, injuries that would require modern medical treatment. And a young boy had a broken nose, although he refused to talk about how he’d actually been injured. Joel considered it, then dismissed the thought. It was something else that could be used to smear the police.

  He strode out of the tent and peered down towards the fence. The police were clearly visible on the far side; a handful of men, a couple of vehicles and a bunch of equipment he didn't recognise. There didn't seem to
be many policemen, certainly not as many as he would set to guard such a vast complex. But that proved nothing. He gazed westwards as the skies started to darken. There was a city in that direction, if he was any judge. He’d seen the lights at night.

  They didn’t move to crush us at once, he thought, as he turned to walk back to the hotel. Joel knew - anyone with half a brain knew - that a challenge had to be answered at once. But the police hadn't tried to answer the challenge. And that proves that they are weak.

  Konrad would have to be briefed, of course. Joel was an old hand at manipulating his father, but this time he’d have to be careful. Konrad might just do something unpredictable. And yet, he’d been just as outraged by the company Hannah kept as everyone else. He wasn't likely to take that lightly. Joel smirked, shaking his head in amusement. Hannah didn’t know it - and probably never would - but she’d done him a favour.

  And all he had to do, now, was capitalise on it.

  ***

  John sat against the wall, rubbing his eye and trying not to hear the sounds from the next room.

  He’d pretended to have no idea where Hannah had gone, when their mother had discovered her absence. Indeed, he had no idea how she’d gotten out of the hotel. But it hadn't been hard to guess where she’d go, if she wanted to be alone. And really, how could he blame her for wanting to be alone. He’d been allowed to explore the complex, although there wasn’t much to see; she’d been trapped in the hotel, cleaning the room time and time again until it was utterly spotless.

  Konrad had punched him, hard, when he’d tried to defend her. John had stumbled backwards and tumbled to the floor, his eye hurting so badly that he’d been unable to think for a few seconds. It had been long enough, more than long enough, for his mother and stepfather to drag Hannah into the next room and slam the door closed. John wanted desperately to charge in and save his sister, but he knew it would be futile. Even if he bested Konrad, the entire community would turn against him. It was far too late to claim to be the family patriarch.

  Damn you, he thought.

  He wasn't sure who he was cursing. Konrad, Joel ... or himself? Or Hannah? Why couldn't she be a normal girl? But would he have liked her so much, he asked himself, if she had been a quiet little mouse? Whatever else could be said about her, Hannah wasn't boring. But he couldn't protect her from the world. He couldn't even protect her from the rest of their family.

  Father would have understood, he thought, as the shouting died away. That wasn't a good sign. The two adults had practically screamed themselves hoarse. He would have known what to do.

  But John didn't. He rose, pacing over to the window and peering outside. Darkness was falling over the camp, broken only by the glow of a dozen campfires. They’d been told not to set fires of their own, but - unsurprisingly - the rules had been ignored. No one seemed interested in actually doing something about it. Joel was down there somewhere, he was sure. Perhaps he’d already unpacked the weapons ...

  He winced as he heard the sound of a slap, followed by a gasp of pain. He'd hoped ... but he'd known there was no way Hannah was escaping punishment. She'd been told to stay in the suite, she’d been told not to talk to Outsiders ... she'd disobeyed her parents and everyone knew it. Another slap echoed through the closed door, followed by another. John closed his eyes, cursing his own weakness. There was no escape for either of them. She didn't have the strength and he didn't have the nerve.

  You have to look after your sister, his father had said, years ago. When I’m gone, you’ll be the family head.

  But he’d let the chance slip through his fingers, John knew. And now they were both trapped.

  I’m sorry, he thought. He wasn't sure who he was apologising to, either. Hannah, his father or ... himself, for being weak. I’m sorry.

  The door opened. Konrad stepped through, his face grim. “She's to stay in there until I say otherwise,” he growled. “You are not to speak to her. Do you understand me?”

  John felt a surge of hatred. Konrad might be his stepfather, but he was damned if he was treating the man as a father. And yet, there was nothing he could do.

  “Yes,” he said, finally. Maybe he could sneak in ... given a chance, he could sneak into the room. “I understand.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  And then the corporation lost interest and withdrew, abandoning the planet and the miners to their fate. The civil war spluttered on for years before finally burning itself out.

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

  “So there was a riot,” Troutman said. His gaze swept the table. “And the police did ... what?”

  He paused for effect. William cursed him mentally, keeping his face utterly impassive by sheer force of will. If there had been a way to deny Troutman entry to the meeting ... but there hadn't been, not without forcing a constitutional crisis. The mere hint of improper behaviour would have caused outrage right across the continent.

  And someone is definitely slipping information to him, William thought. But who? And why?

  “The police decided it would be better to fall back and regroup, rather than push the issue,” Sondra said. Her voice was very cold. “Under the circumstances, I feel they made the right choice.”

  “They showed weakness,” Troutman said.

  William cleared his throat. “They rescued the girl ...”

  “Yes, and they let her kidnappers go,” Troutman said. “That is not acceptable!”

  Sondra snorted. “Would you prefer a bloody battle that left dozens dead on both sides?”

  “I would prefer never to have had this crisis at all,” Troutman snapped. “But since we’re stuck with it, we cannot afford to show weakness.”

  He scowled at her. “We have lost control of the spaceport,” he said. “There is no way we can hold the fence, if the bastards decide they want out. And then ... what? They could reach the city within hours! This is not a time to show weakness.”

  William held up his hand. “What do you propose?”

  “First, we demand that the kidnappers be handed over for punishment,” Troutman said. “And second, that the damned bastards behave themselves. Throwing a world-class fit because one of their people dares to talk to one of ours ... it’s not acceptable.”

  “Culturally,” Sondra said. “A Forsaker ...”

  “Fuck their culture,” Troutman snapped. He took a long breath. “Why are you so interested in making excuses for them?”

  He tapped the datapad on the table. “I don’t give a damn what consenting adults do in private,” he added, making a visible attempt to calm down. “But no one has the right to do anything that puts non-consenting adults - or children - at risk. If one of their people wishes to talk to one of us ... I don’t think anyone has the right to object. Or are we intent on leaving them as a completely separate group?”

  William hesitated, then looked at Sondra. “What did the blood tests show?”

  Sondra looked surprised at the sudden change of subject, but answered the question.

  “There’s no potential threat to our population,” she said. “A number of refugees tested positive for various mild diseases - you can download the full report if you like - but none of them are likely to spread into our population. Nor is it likely we have anything that can pose a threat to them. Our immune systems ensure that we cannot carry a disease that cannot actually infect us.”

  “That’s a relief,” William said.

  “The more detailed analysis did turn up a number of problems,” Sondra added. She hesitated, as if she were unwilling to continue. “There are a number of genetic problems, probably caused by having too small a gene pool. The medical staff think they’re pushing the limits on relationships - a number of married couples were actually first cousins, for example.”

  “Sick,” Troutman commented. “And illegal.”

  “They didn't get married here,” William reminded him. It was sick, but there was no way they could charge someone for committing a crime o
n Tarsus. “As long as it doesn’t happen here, we can't take action.”

  “And what will you do,” Troutman asked, “when it does? And when they say that marrying cousins is part of their culture?”

  William scowled. He’d never even considered the possibility. There had never been any suggestion that he would marry his first cousins, let alone someone even vaguely related to him. And Troutman, who had grown up in the countryside, would be even more revolted by the whole concept. Entire extended families would grow up together, playing together.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said, finally.

  Sondra looked annoyed. “The more pronounced cases will probably require gene therapy if they want to live normal lives,” she said. “It will be costly, but doable. A number ... it may be already too late for the ones who have grown into adulthood.”

  “Ouch,” Troutman said.