Culture Shock

by Christopher Nuttall

  She reached for the device and stared as a name blinked up. HANNAH JOHN-DAUGHTER.

  Impossible, Judith thought.

  She kicked herself a moment later. Using a personal com - or a datanet terminal - wasn't exactly difficult. The user interface had been designed for idiots, although that didn't stop the university’s IT Department from having to sort out all sorts of problems. Hannah might have been raised among the Forsakers, but an intelligent girl would have had no difficulty using a terminal. If, of course, she’d been able to find one.

  It could be a trap, she thought. It was a paranoid thought, but some of the messages she’d received had threatened death - or worse. If someone had learned Hannah’s name, using it to request a meeting would be child’s play. And yet, there was something odd about the way the message had been put together. It sounds like her.

  She hesitated, then tapped a response into the portable com. She’d heard that dozens of refugees had been coming into the city and exploring. Maybe Hannah had found a way to get out without being noticed. Nothing she’d said about her family had suggested they would be interested in letting her go to the city. Indeed, most of the refugees she’d seen on the streets had been young men.

  Giving your location out on the datanet can be dangerous, she reminded herself. But she was too depressed to care. I won’t be here for long.

  She sent the message, then waited. The coffee tasted better, but she was too concerned with plotting out possible lines of retreat to pay close attention to the flavour. Twenty minutes later, the door opened and Hannah stepped into the cafe, followed by a young man who looked strikingly like her. If she hadn't known they were brother and sister, she would have suspected it just by looking at them.

  The barista coughed, loudly. “Do you have money?”

  “They’re with me,” Judith called. The ID cards the refugees had been issued did have some cash, but they couldn’t be used everywhere. Most civilians preferred to use paper money and coinage. “Can we get a menu?”

  She beckoned Hannah and her brother over, nodding to a pair of chairs. Hannah looked ... alive, although she moved with a curious stiffness that bothered Judith. Her brother took one look at Judith’s chest - she’d worn a comfortable sweater, rather than her uniform - and then looked away, blushing furiously. Judith kept her amusement to herself. She’d never quite understood why city-boys found it so hard to speak to women - farm boys didn't seem to have that problem - but it could be sweet.

  “Judith,” Hannah said. She sat stiffly too, a faint wince flickering over her face. “This is my brother, John.”

  “Pleased to meet you, again,” Judith said. She held out her hand automatically, curious to see what he would do. John hesitated, then shook her hand lightly. He didn't seem to savour the contact at all. “How are you coping with life?”

  John flushed. “Badly,” he said.

  “My brother is not used to talking to girls,” Hannah said. John’s flush grew deeper. “The spaceport is steadily growing worse.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Judith said. The barista appeared with a pair of menus, which he held out to the two refugees with deep suspicion. “It wasn't designed to take so many people.”

  “We’ve been lucky,” Hannah admitted. “We got a room. Others have been rather less lucky.”

  “They’re in tents,” John said. “And sleeping ten to a tent, these days.”

  Judith winced. She’d never enjoyed sharing a room with her brother, even though it hadn’t happened very often. Even sharing a room with Gayle - the thought caused her a nasty pang - had had its problems. The idea of sharing a cramped tent, one designed for three or four people, with nine others ... it was horrific. She thought she’d go stir-crazy within the week.

  Hannah’s eyes flickered down the menu. “What can we order?”

  “Drinks and snacks, basically,” Judith said. She had enough money to get them both a drink and a sandwich, but little else. “Try the coffee?”

  “We’re not allowed to drink coffee,” John said, morbidly. “Is there anything on this list we can eat?”

  “Everything, as long as there’s no alcohol,” Hannah said, briskly. She paused. “Is the food natural or vat-grown?”

  Judith concealed a smile. She’d heard horror stories about visitors from Earth who’d been sick when they’d discovered they were eating dead animals. Honestly! What had they thought they were eating? It made absolutely no sense at all. But then, she supposed they’d never eaten real meat. Earth’s handful of remaining farms were solely for the wealthy.

  And they’re all gone now, she reminded herself. The entire planet is a wasteland.

  Hannah coughed. “Judith?”

  “The meat will have come in from the nearby farms,” Judith assured her. She sniffed the air, tasting the scent of freshly-baked bread. “They’ll make the bread here too.”

  “I’ll have a chicken sandwich and tea,” Hannah decided. “John?”

  John looked hesitant. “We don’t have any money.”

  “I’ll pay,” Judith said. She shrugged. “Unless you want to spend more than fifty pounds, in which case we have a problem.”

  She smiled at him. “A chicken sandwich? Or beef?”

  “Beef,” John said.

  He looked almost cringingly embarrassed. Most boys would be a little embarrassed at having a girl buy their food - even though it wasn't a real date - but John seemed to take it to extremes. Perhaps it was different amongst the Forsakers. From what she’d heard - and from what she’d looked up - young Forsakers would rarely be allowed alone time with the opposite sex. Men and women had different spheres and they weren't supposed to mix. Just sitting facing her was pushing John to the limit.

  Maybe I should have worn a dress, Judith thought, as she rose. John looked away, blushing furiously. Her shirt had tightened, just a little. Or maybe I should be hiding behind a wall.

  She ordered the food, then returned to the table. Hannah looked a little embarrassed too, although Judith couldn't tell if it was because of her brother or simply sitting in a cafe with a friend. Her family would not be pleased, no matter what happened. Making friends outside the commune was forbidden.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to you,” Hannah said. “My stepbrother ... he can be a pain at times.”

  “A pain,” Judith repeated. She’d had nightmares over the last few days, nightmares where the police didn't get to her ... or joined in the fun. “I would say he is more than just a pain.”

  “He has a lot to live up to,” Hannah said.

  “He’s a bastard,” John said, flatly. He didn't look up. “He’s nothing more than a monster.”

  Judith swallowed. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing I couldn't handle,” Hannah said, quietly. “I’ve endured worse.”

  “I’m sorry,” Judith said. It seemed so ... inadequate. “Why don't you just leave?”

  “I can't leave my mother,” Hannah said. She shook her head. “And where would I go?”

  Judith winced. Hannah’s dress covered everything below her chin, but it was clear, just from the way she'd been moving, that she’d been beaten. There had to be aches and pains all over her body. Judith couldn’t imagine her father doing anything like that to anyone. It was horrific. It was utterly unspeakable.

  And the government wanted to keep it quiet, she thought, sourly. Would they even care if the story went public?

  “Your stepfather is a monster too,” she said, finally.

  Hannah laughed, bitterly. “He’s supposed to be doing us a favour. His son is betrothed to me.”

  Judith stared at her. “Your stepfather’s son is betrothed to you? Your stepbrother?”

  “We’re not actually related,” Hannah said, sourly. “It’s not forbidden.”

  “You allow first cousins to marry,” Judith pointed out. Her head was spinning. Had Hannah’s stepfather married her mother just to ensure his son a bride? What sort of monster could think like that? “And even if you�
��re not that closely related, you practically grew up together.”

  “My fault,” John said, miserably. “If I’d declared myself patriarch ...”

  “You were too young,” Hannah said.

  Judith shook her head. Hannah was making excuses ... why was she making excuses? Her stepfather was a monster. And her stepbrother ... technically, Hannah and her stepbrother weren't actually brother and sister, but they’d grown up together. Legally, she didn't think it was forbidden; morally, she could see all sorts of problems with it. And besides, there was the possibility that Hannah was related to her stepbrother. She’d have to check their genetic profile before marrying.

  “Sick,” she said, finally.

  “My mother was desperate,” Hannah said. “She thought she had no choice.”

  The food arrived. Judith watched in amusement as Hannah and John marvelled over the giant baguettes, the layers of meat, vegetables and sauces ... if they’d been stuck eating ration bars, the sandwiches would have seemed wondrous to them. Judith rather doubted the aid workers had managed to get some proper food to the refugees. Prices had been rising sharply over the last week.

  “This is very good,” John said. He seemed to have forgotten his shyness. “And all this is from a farm?”

  “I imagine so,” Judith said, dryly. “Where else would it have come from?”

  She leaned forward, nibbling on her own sandwich. “Who decides? I mean ... how do marriages get organised?”

  Hannah’s face darkened. “The patriarch of the boy’s family talks to the patriarch of the girl’s family,” she said. “Normally, that’s the girl’s father. It depends - sometimes it’s the girl’s uncle instead. The girl’s patriarch decides if the marriage is acceptable, after consulting his other relatives and checking the boy’s reputation. If everything looks good, the girl and boy meet under strict chaperonage.”

  She made a face. “If they get through that, the girl spends time with her prospective in-laws,” she added. “And if she survives that, the wedding is conducted and she is a blushing bride.”

  Judith cursed as she saw the true scale of the problem facing Hannah. Her patriarch and her stepbrother’s patriarch were the same person. The stepfather could merely approve the match without bothering to consult with anyone. And then ...

  She met Hannah’s eyes. “What happens if you refuse the match?”

  Hannah looked down at the table. “It depends,” she admitted. “If the match isn't important, I might be allowed to make the decision for myself. But if the match is important, for the family ...”

  “Shit,” Judith said, as Hannah’s voice tailed off. “They’d force you to marry him.”

  “They will,” John said, bitterly.

  Judith stared. “But why?”

  Hannah shrugged. “They forced us to go to school on Tarsus,” she said. “The government, I mean. Normally, we would have been schooled at home. We were told to have nothing to do with the Outsider kids. Just sit in their classrooms, pretend to pay attention ... head home immediately afterwards without looking back. Me ... I liked talking to them. I was friendly with them. Some baboons started talking ... before I knew it, my reputation was under threat.”

  Judith stared. “But you were a child!”

  “They don’t care,” Hannah said. She made an odd motion with her hands, as if she couldn't quite keep them under control. “The mere thought of ... contamination, of perhaps choosing to leave the commune ... maybe if our father had lived it would have been different. But he didn’t. And I drove my reputation into the mud. I wasn't interested in cooking or cleaning or sewing ... I wasn’t even interested in becoming a midwife. I wanted to do something with my life.”

  She shrugged. “Joel is really the only person who will marry me,” she added. “My mother was desperate to find me a match. I’d be married by now if we had a proper place to live.”

  The bleak hopelessness in her voice chilled Judith to the bone. She’d never even considered rebelling against her father ... but she’d never had to consider it. Her father had never ordered her to marry someone ... he expected her to work on the farm, if she wanted to live there, yet that was different. She could choose her own path.

  “You can be whatever you want to be,” her father had said, years ago. “But you have to actually work at it.”

  “Leave,” she said. She glanced at John. “Would you let your sister go?”

  “I wouldn't want to lose her,” John said.

  “Leave with her,” Judith urged. “Find a place to stay here.”

  “I don’t think I could live here,” John said. He shook his head. “It’s too different.”

  He glanced around, looking embarrassed. It took Judith a moment to realise he was looking for the toilet. She pointed a finger at the sign, then hid her amusement as he rose and hurried towards the door. No doubt he’d been too embarrassed to ask her - or the staff - where the toilets were hidden.

  “He’s uncomfortable here,” Hannah said, softly.

  Judith frowned. “Why?”

  Hannah waved a hand. “This place ... it’s too different, like he said,” she admitted. “The people, the women ... he’s not used to seeing women dressed so ... so revealingly. We were always taught to cover up, even when we were alone. We shouldn't attract attention ...”

  “That sounds like an excuse to blame women for being raped,” Judith said, a little sharper than she meant. She’d received messages that said just that, accusing her of exciting the poor little refugees with her tight-fitting clothes and long blonde hair. “Do you believe it?”

  “I think it doesn't matter,” Hannah said, bitterly.

  “Leave,” Judith urged. “My ... my roommate is probably about to go. Even if she isn't, there’s plenty of room for us. You could move in with me ... we could try and find you a place at university. Or ... my father would probably be happy to have a willing worker, if you’re actually willing to work.”

  Hannah stared at her. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Judith said. “And we could probably find a place for John too.”

  “My mother would be left behind,” Hannah said.

  Judith gritted her teeth. She barely recalled Hannah’s mother, but she found it hard to feel any respect for a woman willing to force her daughter into a loveless marriage. Maybe, by her standards, she was doing the right thing ... Judith still found it unforgivable. And there was something creepy about Hannah’s stepfather. Marrying a woman just so her daughter could marry his son ...

  “I don’t understand,” she said, instead. “Why can't you go back to see her?”

  “Because we’re meant to be committed,” Hannah said. “We - our ancestors - made a deliberate choice to turn our backs on the modern world. The demon technology ... it made lives worse, or so they said. They chose a simple life. And if someone isn't committed to that life, better they leave instead of weakening the entire community.”

  “Then leave,” Judith said. She supposed it made a certain kind of sense. Most of the would-be farmers who had worked for her father had gone home, instead of staying in the countryside. “You’re not committed.”

  “I know,” Hannah said.

  Judith looked up. There was a sound coming from down the street. People were shouting and screaming ... she could hear the sound of shattering glass. The barista took one look out the window, then started slamming his shutters into place.

  She glanced at Hannah. “What’s that?”

  Hannah paled. “A riot,” she said, jumping to her feet. “We have to get out of here.”

  She raised her voice. “John! We have to get out of here!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  This led to a number of responses. Some worlds managed to build up enough of a defence force to convince the Empire to negotiate, rather than engage in a pointless and costly war. Others insisted on carefully screening and integrating the newcomers, offering to feed and clothe the immigrants in exchange for complete control. And still others took the imm
igrants and either dumped them on undeveloped parts of the planet or simply killed them.

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

  “So, what’s your name?”

  James turned ... and saw a strikingly pretty young girl. He stared, unable to quite believe his eyes. Long flowing blonde hair, a perfect face, bright blue eyes ... and a dress that revealed far too much of her breasts. He couldn't stop himself staring, his eyes trailing down to a shamefully-short skirt that was barely long enough to cover her thighs. His heart began to pound as he looked up again. He’d never seen anyone like her, not even on Tarsus.