Culture Shock

by Christopher Nuttall

  “For the moment,” John said. The only safe place near a riot was somewhere else. “We have to get back to the spaceport.”

  Hannah hesitated. “John ...”

  “If you vanish now, they’ll think you’re missing,” John said, sharply. Joel would find out Hannah was missing and then ... John didn't want to know. “You have to tell them you’re leaving.”

  The sounds outside were growing louder. John saw a blue-clad man run past, followed rapidly by another one. The police ... the police might be nice here, but he doubted they would be kind to any rioters. Or anyone caught too close to the riot. He caught Hannah’s arm and dragged her out of the cafe, leading her down the street. They had to get away from the riot before circling round to get on the shuttle bus.

  “I’ll contact you,” Hannah called. It took John a long moment to realise she was talking to Judith. “Take care.”

  John kept a tight grip on her arm as they hurried down the street. Storekeepers glared at them, some fondling guns as if they were intended to start firing at random. John was used to suspicion and hatred, but he’d never been threatened with a gun before. Tarsus had had very strict gun control laws, none of which had kept guns out of criminal hands. Joel had used to say that the local government was quite happy to let weapons flow to rogue groups that would take care of the Forsakers for them.

  “John, we can't go back,” Hannah said. “Joel ...”

  “Won’t notice as long as you get back before he thinks to check,” John said. He had no idea how Hannah had escaped their mother, but she clearly had. “Besides, he’s going to have other problems.”

  Gritting his teeth, he kept running. They had to get to the bus before someone thought to cancel the bus service. And then ...? He hoped - prayed - they could get back to the spaceport in time. Joel wouldn't be remotely pleased if he discovered that Hannah had gone down to the city, even with John’s supervision. He’d complain to his father and Hannah would be punished. John too, probably.

  But he’s going to have to worry about the riot, John told himself, grimly. That should keep him busy.

  And he hoped, desperately, that he was right.

  ***

  Joel hadn't really expected trouble, not in Lothian. He'd given explicit orders to everyone he’d escorted down to the city to stay out of trouble. But now ...

  “They arrested five of us,” Gavin said. He was breathing hard, gasping for breath. He’d run desperately until he’d found Joel. “They’re taking them to the station! They were attacked and they were arrested!”

  Joel cursed under his breath. He really should have expected it. The same had happened on Tarsus. Someone started trouble and the Forsakers were blamed. The police couldn't be allowed to take the prisoners into their cells or they’d never be seen again. He thought rapidly, barking out orders to the Stewards as he consulted his map. Technically, he should have called back to the spaceport for orders, but the Elders would hesitate until it was too late. The doddering old men could not be allowed to get in the way.

  “The closest police station is here,” he said, tapping a point on the paper map. Thankfully, he’d explored Lothian thoroughly enough to have a fair idea of how the map translated into reality. The map was actually accurate. “They’ll have to take the prisoners there, won’t they?”

  Gavin nodded enthusiastically. Joel wasn't so sure. There were seven police stations in the city - Tarsus City had had over thirty, all much larger - and there was no guarantee that the prisoners would be taken to the one he’d picked. It was the closest, but the prisoners might be marked down for special attention. God knew some prisons on Tarsus had a worse reputation than others. No one in their right mind went anywhere near the secret police headquarters.

  “They’ll have to go down this road,” he added, after a moment. “We’ll catch them there.”

  He smiled to himself as he led the small crowd down the street. There were forty Forsakers with him - and they’d meet others, if they were lucky, along the way. It wasn't much, but he felt his heart singing at the thought of doing something - anything - to stem the collapse of his community. His father would disapprove, but it hardly mattered. Joel - not the Elders - was doing something to save their world.

  This could go wrong, his thoughts reminded him.

  But he refused to believe it. The local government was weak. Nothing he’d seen in the last few days had forced him to change his mind. They'd allowed the Forsakers to make demands - and they’d conceded those demands - instead of brutally crushing all resistance. And now ... they couldn't be allowed to get the impression that the Forsakers would accept their people being turned into scapegoats, not any longer. They were no longer on Tarsus. And the local government wasn't itching for an excuse to wipe them out.

  He snapped out orders as they turned the corner. “Grab our people, then turn and run,” he ordered, sharply. “Do not kill any of the locals.”

  He hoped - prayed - that his men would obey orders. No one liked the police, not after everything they’d endured on Tarsus. But dead policemen could easily force the local government into an overreaction. Joel had every faith in his people, yet he knew the locals could do a great deal of damage. He refused to admit the possibility of being exterminated.

  And then the police came into view. Joel took one moment to check that they were escorting prisoners, then gave the order. The mob surged forward ...

  ***

  Mike had never enjoyed escorting prisoners to the nearest police station. Sure, there were some utter scumbags who deserved to be filmed as they made their handcuffed way to jail, but others were arrested merely for being drunk and disorderly, or for merely being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And while there had never been a case of a prisoner being assassinated during his march to jail, at least on Arthur’s Seat, he had a nasty feeling it was a possibility. There were too many angry people watching them as the Forsakers were marched away.

  We should have brought the vans in, he told himself. But that would have meant having to wait.

  A low rumble caught his attention. Mike looked up, just in time to see a mob of people running towards him, shouting and screaming. He grabbed his truncheon, letting go of the prisoner’s arm; the prisoner slammed his shoulder into Mike, sending Mike staggering to the side as the mob crashed into the policemen. The truncheon went flying as Mike hit the ground, booted feet kicking at his body. Mike grunted in pain, then curled into a ball, covering his head as best as he could. He had no body armour, no other way to protect himself ... it was the only way to keep himself safe.

  The noise was deafening. The mob was chanting something; he braced himself, curling up again as more feet kicked at him. Someone - a woman, he thought - was screaming, the high-pitched noise so loud it echoed over the chant. A foot came down on his back, the pain so intense that he thought, just for a second, that he’d been fatally injured. And then ...

  ***

  Joel hung back, just a little, as the mob hit the police lines. The police fought desperately, laying about them with their truncheons, but there were just too many Forsakers for them to win. Joel watched, grimly, as the policemen were knocked down, then hurried past them to snatch the prisoners. They'd been cuffed, but he knew from experience that unlocking handcuffs was easy with the right set of tools.

  “Get them out of here,” he snapped, shoving the first prisoner to Olaf. He vaguely remembered the young man, one of many who’d attended his sermons. “Move, damn it!”

  A scream split the air. Joel turned, just in time to see Adam clutching a policeman’s arms while Jack struggled to pull down his pants. The scene was so disgraceful that Joel, just for a second, didn't comprehend what he was seeing. It wasn't until the pants - and a pair of shamefully thin undergarments - were pulled down that he realised he was looking at a policewoman. He couldn't help noticing that she’d shaved between her legs. It was one of the signs of a slutty woman ...

  He remembered himself as Jack started to undo his belt. “G
et away from her,” he snapped, sharply. Jack wasn't much smarter than Olaf - perhaps the Outsiders had a point about not allowing first cousins to marry - but he should know better than that! “Now!”

  Jack looked up at him, stubbornly. Joel cursed under his breath. Jack was deep in the throes of lust, unable to think of anything but fucking the policewoman. Nothing mattered, but spending himself ... Joel darted forward and slammed a punch into Jack’s chest, doubling him over. Adam let go of the sobbing policewoman, as if she was suddenly red hot. Joel wouldn't have hesitated to hit him too if necessary.

  “Grab Jack,” Joel ordered. Jack - damn the bastard - might have ruined everything. Joel would whip him until his back was bleeding, once they got back to the spaceport. A public whipping might teach the idiot to obey orders. “Hurry!”

  He glanced at the remainder of the prisoners, then turned and ordered his friends to start running. The local prisoners could run themselves, if they wished, or stay with the policemen. He didn't care. They weren't his concern, certainly not now. Let them live or die as they wished. He had to get back to the spaceport before it was too late.

  And hope this doesn't come back to haunt us, he thought. Snatching his people back was a risk, but one that had to be borne. And Jack ... Jack was going to suffer. He could have ruined everything just because he thought that Outsider women were sluts. The government might decide to take more violent steps.

  ***

  Mike grunted in pain as he slowly uncurled himself, his entire body aching. He hadn't felt so bruised and battered since training, when he’d been put through hell by the instructors. And now ... he groped for the panic button and pushed it, hoping that one of the other constables had had the presence of mind to hit the switch before being overwhelmed. He should have done it ...

  A sob caught his attention and he spun around. Bobbie was lying on the ground, her pants around her ankles and her legs splayed open ... her eyes were staring up at nothing, as if she was bracing herself for an ordeal. Mike recoiled in utter horror, realising just what their attackers had meant to do. There was nothing sexual in the sight, merely ...

  He shrugged off his jacket, despite the pain, and draped it over her legs. The touch made Bobbie jerk, then sit upright. She buried her head in her hands a moment later and started to sob, great heaving sobs that chilled Mike to the bone. They’d broken her, he realised numbly. The mob might not have raped her - he hadn't seen any signs to suggest they’d actually raped her - but they’d crushed her soul. She might never be able to return to duty.

  We’re not used to this, Mike thought, as he heard the sound of reinforcements finally arriving. Five policemen, clad in riot gear that had been outdated years ago ... they looked intimidating, but Mike knew they didn't have any experience with their equipment. And they made fools of us.

  He stood, then helped Bobbie to her feet. After a moment, when she made no move to do it for herself, he knelt and pulled up her pants, trying not to look. She was swaying on her feet, her face so vague that he wasn’t sure if she knew what had happened or not. Part of him hoped she’d zoned out completely, even though he knew it was a problem. Like him, she should have been pushed hard during training. But then, no one had expected riots on Arthur’s Seat.

  And it was a tiny little riot compared to the monsters on Earth, he thought, bitterly.

  A medic arrived, looking reassuringly competent. Mike pushed Bobbie towards her, then looked around for the Incident Coordinator. Someone would have taken command by now, organising the first and second responders as they arrived. As shaken as he was, Mike knew he couldn't leave. His job came first, always.

  And what will happen, his thoughts mocked him, if things get worse?

  He sighed. He had no answer.

  ***

  The sound of the riot faded quickly as Judith headed away from Main Street, keeping one hand on the knife in her pocket as she hurried back towards the university. There were fewer people on the streets, thankfully, but those that were looked nervous, watching grimly for signs of trouble. Judith kept her distance from the others, knowing that a single mistake could prove disastrous. She didn't feel safe until she reached the campus ...

  She sighed as she saw the large poster, proclaiming a welcoming rally for the refugees. A dozen students stood below it, handing out pamphlets encouraging students to befriend the newcomers. Judith wondered, as she hurried past them, just what they’d think of Hannah’s story. A young girl had the choice between abandoning her family and being married to some asshole she didn't even like.

  The apartment felt empty as she stepped inside. Gayle’s possessions were still there - she couldn't help a faint smile as she saw the underwear hanging from the rail - yet there was no sign of Gayle herself. She glanced into the smaller bedroom, where Gayle had been sleeping for the last few days, but she wasn't there either. A dozen different leaflets littered the bed, some addressed to students and others aimed at Forsaker families. The latter encouraged them to open their homes to refugees.

  And that will end well, Judith thought, sarcastically. Gayle and Hannah are very different.

  It was an odd thought. Gayle and Hannah looked a little alike, but their personalities were very different. Gayle was delightfully sensual - Judith tingled at the memory of some of the things they’d done together - while Hannah was stiff and restrained. It was hard to imagine Hannah doing anything more than lying back and opening her legs, after marriage; she’d just lie still until the man was finished, then wash herself. She certainly wouldn't experiment with another girl. And her brother ...

  She sighed, putting the thought aside. Hannah would be safe, she told herself firmly. She wouldn't be killed for daring to go down to the town. Or would she? Her stepbrother - who was also betrothed to her, a truly disgusting thought - might throw a fit if he caught her sneaking out. And then ...

  But there was nothing Judith could do.

  She cursed as she walked back into the living room and turned on the terminal. The local news stations were already talking about the riot, although real information seemed to be scarce and there were at least four different explanations in the first ten minutes. But the different commenters all agreed that refugees had started the riot and attacked the police. It didn't look good.

  Oh, Gayle, she thought, feeling a bitter pang of grief. She missed her girlfriend, more than she cared to admit. Where are you?

  And what, her thoughts added, do you think of your cousins now?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The problem, as with so many other issues that eventually brought down the Empire, was that the majority of the Grand Senate simply did not care. They were more concerned with problems at home, such as milking the system to produce more patronage and graft.

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

  Troutman was looking particularly smug, William noted, as he walked into the conference room and took a seat at the table. And well he might, William had to admit, feeling a surge of hatred that almost blinded him. The riot hadn't just given the Freeholders a boost, it had upset and alienated Empire Loyalist and Unionist voters. Lothian might just switch sides completely during the next election, giving the Freeholders an unbeatable position ...

  This is not the time for calculating political advantages, he told himself, sharply. We have to find a solution before all hell breaks loose.

  And if Troutman kicks you out of office, his own thoughts answered, he’ll be in charge of finding a solution instead.

  William sighed, then nodded to the usher. The doors were closed, firmly. There were no coffee or sweet biscuits, not this time. This was an emergency meeting. Perhaps, just perhaps, the absence of refreshments would help concentrate a few minds. But night was slowly falling over the city. They might need coffee after all.

  “This meeting is hereby called to order,” he said. “Jacob?”

  Chief Constable Jacob Montgomery looked grim. The preliminary reports suggested that a number of policeme
n had been injured, perhaps even killed. It would have been a disaster at any point, but now it was an utter nightmare. Recruiting more constables would be difficult if the job was suddenly more dangerous.

  “The witness statements are a little vague,” he said. “At one extreme, we have a fight that broke out between a refugee and a local boy; on the other, we have an attempted rape that was stopped by said local boy. Regardless, the fighting sucked in a number of other refugees and locals. By the time the police arrived, nine people were injured, three seriously. All of them are currently receiving treatment in hospital. Several dozen other people were badly traumatised by the whole affair.”

  He paused. “But that wasn't the worst of it,” he added, after a moment. “The policemen escorting the prisoners to the station were attacked by another gang of refugees. They were knocked down - a policewoman was molested - and the prisoners were taken. The gang faded back into the streets and vanished.”

  “Vanished,” Troutman repeated.

  “We believe that most of them headed back to the spaceport,” Montgomery said. “By the time anyone thought to cancel the bus service, it was too late.”