His face darkened. “A couple of policemen were badly injured during the second fight,” he admitted. “One had a broken jaw, perhaps in revenge for the spaceport riot; the other had a broken leg. And a policewoman was threatened with rape. She’s currently off the active-duty roster and it is unclear if she will ever be able to return to duty.”
There was a long silence. “You say the accounts differ,” Sondra said, finally. “How do you mean?”
“Susan Pettigrew, the girl who was nearly raped, stated that her assailant practically drooled over her before trying to touch her,” Montgomery said. “Hamish, Son of Henry - the sole Forsaker in custody - insists that Susan was trying to seduce her assailant in public. By his account, Susan was practically asking for it.”
His lips twitched in distaste. “We do not, of course, accept that justification.”
“I should hope not,” Troutman snapped. “I don’t care if she was walking down the street wearing her birthday suit! That doesn't give every Tom, Dick and Harry the right to fuck her.”
William winced, inwardly. The whole episode was a political nightmare. Who knew where the female vote would go, as word spread? There were too many rumours on the datanet - already - for them to cover the whole affair up. No, that wasn't remotely possible. The riot had been rather noticeable, after all.
Sondra cleared her throat. “He might well have misunderstood what she was saying ...”
“You’re a woman,” Troutman pointed out. “Do you really believe that that justifies anything?”
“I believe that the case needs to be considered carefully,” Sondra answered. Two hot spots burned on her cheeks. This is not a simple open-and-shut case.”
“Yes, it is,” Troutman said. “He had no right whatsoever to touch her. It’s as simple as that.”
“But he might well have misunderstood what she was doing,” Sondra said. “He was born and raised in a community where sexual contact between unmarried men and women is practically unknown ...”
Troutman snorted. “So what?”
“So he may not have understood what was happening,” Sondra said, patiently.
“Jesus Christ,” Troutman said. “Are you seriously making excuses for a fucking rapist?”
“Language,” William said.
Troutman ignored him. “And have you forgotten,” he added, “that the prisoners were snatched out of our hands by another group of refugees? That a policewoman was fucking molested by them? That ...”
He shook his head in disbelief. “This is a challenge to our authority,” he snapped. “This is an outright challenge to our authority. We have to stamp down on it hard!”
Montgomery cleared his throat. “That may not be easy.”
Troutman swung around to glare at him. “Explain.”
“There are roughly thirty thousand refugees crammed into the spaceport,” Montgomery said, slowly. “We’ve actually had to move the fence twice in the last couple of days, just to provide more living space. In the chaos, we’re not quite sure how many refugees are in the spaceport, let alone how many are in Lothian. We have twenty-seven confirmed cases of refugees leaving the spaceport and not returning.”
“Oh, that’s just great,” Troutman said.
“Right now, the police force is utterly overstretched,” Montgomery added. “We never anticipated this crisis - or anything, really. Too much of our manpower is tied down at the spaceport. Wading into the spaceport to drag the ... the wanted criminals out may be impossible.”
“They have no weapons,” Troutman snarled.
“Don’t count on it,” Commodore Charles Van Houlton warned. “Improvising weapons isn’t that hard.”
“Then drop a KEW on the spaceport, as soon as the last shuttle is down,” Troutman insisted, loudly. “Smash them flat!”
William felt his temper surge, but kept it under iron control. “Are you prepared to kill fifty thousand people?”
“I grew up on a farm,” Troutman said. His voice hardened. “Farmers don’t have the luxury of being idealistic. I’ve shot wild boar and foxes and wolves because they threatened my animals. The numbskulls who whine about shooting harmless animals have never seen the damage those animals have done.”
“We’re talking about people, not animals,” William said, quietly.
“And our people come first,” Troutman answered. “How many times do we have to go over the same argument? Our people come first!”
He took a breath. “Push them into the sea. Ship them to Minoa. March them to detention camps and put them to work in chain gangs. But don't just let the problem grow worse and worse ...
“Tell me. If they get away with this, with assaulting young women and attacking policemen, what will they do next?”
“We don’t know their Elders meant to assault the policemen,” Sondra said.
“Oh, yeah,” Troutman sneered. “They just happened to see the policemen and they just happened to snatch the prisoners and they just happened to molest a policewoman ...”
He sighed. “Do you have any idea just how bad this could get?”
“We should try to talk to them,” Sondra said. “Perhaps we can convince them to return the prisoners - and the others - without further ado.”
“And that will make it clear that we are not negotiating from a position of strength,” Troutman said, sharply. He slammed a fist into his hand. “We have to convince them that they have a flat choice between knuckling under or getting crushed.”
His voice hardened. “I don’t think we have any obligation to help them if they refuse to behave themselves,” he added. “Our people come first!”
And that will be their election slogan, William thought, grimly. Troutman had to be kept out of power. His first order would be to exterminate the refugees, even if it meant destroying the spaceport. The Empire mandated that every planet had to have at least one spaceport, but the Empire was gone. I can't let this crisis get any worse.
He glanced at Sondra. “We will find a solution soon,” he promised. It wasn't going to be easy, not with Troutman breathing down their necks. “Until then ... we will address the problem tomorrow.”
Troutman snorted. “And do you plan to magically make them all go away?”
He rose. “I don’t think I have to tell you that unease is already spreading,” he added. “There isn't a single gunshop that hasn't run out of guns, ammunition and other weapons. I dare say it won’t be long before people start taking pot-shots at refugees on sight. What happens, let me ask, when the people no longer trust the government to protect them?”
William watched him stride out of the room, cursing under his breath. The urban residents had never seen a riot, certainly nothing this serious. They looked to the police to protect them, but the police were already overstretched. A change in government wouldn't change that, not in a hurry. And once that sank in, who knew what would happen?
But the farmers are used to looking after themselves, he reminded himself grimly. They’ll be happy to fight, if necessary.
He sighed. They needed a solution and fast. But what?
***
“I don't mind telling you,” Doctor Jones said, “that you’ve looked better.”
Mike looked at himself in the mirror. There was a nasty bruise on his face and several more running down his side. He twisted, ignoring the twinge of pain from his back. Sure enough, there was a mark that looked like a footprint on his rear. It wasn't the first time he'd been injured in the line of duty, but it was definitely one of the more extreme cases.
“Thank you,” he said, sourly. “Can you clear me for duty?”
“I would advise a hot bath and a nap, but you wouldn't pay any attention,” Doctor Jones said, dryly. She was a tall dark woman, the granddaughter of an immigrant couple. “Try to take it easy for the next couple of days, Mike.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Mike said. He had no doubt the PCA would want a few words with him about the riot. Maybe, just maybe, they’d try to blame it
on him. Hell, merely losing the prisoners was awkward enough. Someone who hadn't been there could make a case for incompetence, if they tried. “But I’ll do my best.”
He turned and started to get dressed, tugging on his pants. “How is Bobbie?”
“Not good,” Doctor Jones said. “Physically, she’s largely unharmed; they knocked her down, but they didn't give her a beating. Mentally ... she’s not in a good state. Being rendered vulnerable like that is going to cast a long shadow over her life.”
Mike frowned. Rape was rare on Arthur’s Seat. A combination of DNA testing, lie detectors and a robust attitude to self-defence ensured that very few rapists remained uncaught long enough to strike again. It wasn't as if they were on Earth, where rape victims had helplessness hammered into them from a very early age and rapists went unpunished, unless they happened to pick on someone with very good connections. Hell, he’d heard that defending yourself on Earth could win you a one-way ticket to a stage-one colony. And Bobbie hadn't actually been raped ...
But she was rendered helpless, he thought, grimly. And she would have been raped.
He gritted his teeth as he finished dressing. Captain Scott hadn't allowed him to take part in any of the interrogations, but he’d listened as each of the prisoners outlined what had happened when the police had been attacked. It was clear, chillingly clear, that a Forsaker had saved Bobbie from being raped. And that suggested that the whole affair wasn't random violence, but something that had been planned in advance. And that suggested ...
He’d taken his concerns to Captain Scott, during the debriefing. But Scott had been more interested in getting Mike and his fellows back on the streets as soon as possible. Mike rather suspected Scott had forgotten to mention Mike’s thoughts to his superiors. And if that was the case, Mike would have to pass them up the chain himself.
“Thank you, Doctor,” he said. “And I hope I won’t see you soon.”
The doctor laughed and waved him out the door. She’d had a busy night - and, Mike suspected, it was only the beginning. He smiled as he strode down the corridor, then sobered as he caught sight of Bobbie in an examination room. She was sitting on a medical bed, her eyes downcast. Mike knew she was at least twenty-five, but she looked younger. The gown someone had forced her to wear didn't help. He would have taken her for eighteen if he hadn't known better.
“Bobbie,” he said, gently. He’d been warned not to loom over rape victims, not when they would almost certainly be on edge. Bobbie might not have been physically raped, but her mind had been ... twisted. “How are you feeling?”
“Rotten,” Bobbie said. She didn't look up. “Did you get cleared by the doctor?”
“Yeah,” Mike said. He felt a hot flash of pure rage. The bastards who’d hurt her were going to pay! But even that was a sign that things had changed. He was treating her as someone who had to be protected, rather than an equal. “I can go back on duty.”
“Good,” Bobbie said. There was no enthusiasm in her tone at all. “Good luck.”
Mike gritted his teeth. It was better, his instructors had said, when the victims of crime wanted to fight back. It proved they hadn't lost their nerve, that they hadn't allowed the criminal to steal their determination as well as their property. Some people never quite recovered from having their house burgled, or being mugged on the street ... or being raped.
Because the crime struck them on a very intimate level, he recalled. And they no longer feel safe in their homes ... or anywhere.
“We’ll find the people responsible,” he said, finally. They did have descriptions, although most of them were vague. There was no DNA evidence, not this time. “And put them in a work camp until they’re fifty.”
“No, you won’t,” Bobbie said. She still hadn't looked up from the floor. “If the government is prepared to treat you as a criminal, just for saving that poor girl, what are they going to do to me?”
“File a charge,” Mike urged. He had no idea if Bobbie had filed one or not already, but a filed charge was harder to deny. “Don’t let them get away with it.”
Bobbie looked up at him, her eyes hopeless. “But they will,” she said. “Who cares?”
Mike ground his teeth in silent - and helpless - fury. Bobbie had been broken. She’d been stripped of her uniform, stripped of her dignity, stripped of her sense of security ... and she hadn't even saved herself. No, the reports had made that clear. She’d been saved from two criminals by another criminal. And she was right. The bastards would probably get away with it.
Unless we can identify them, he thought, grimly. They may not know there isn't any solid evidence ...
He shuddered. He had a wife, a pregnant wife. He had sisters and cousins; he knew almost every girl on his street, from the newborn babies to a young lady who’d asked him about joining the police. Were they all at risk? Should they be urged to cover themselves, to cower in their homes as more and more refugees landed on the planet? Or would the government find its balls and stamp on the refugees?
Of course not, he thought. That would mean admitting they were wrong.
“I care,” he said, finally. He reached out to touch her shoulder, then stopped himself. In her vulnerable state, touching her would probably be disastrous. He couldn't treat her like a fellow cop, not any longer. “And it will get better.”
Bobbie snorted. “You think?”
“Yes,” Mike said. He tried to push as much encouragement into his voice as he could, even though he didn't feel encouraging. “I think so.”
He paused. “I’ll talk to you later,” he added. “And don't hesitate to call me if you need a friendly ear.”
“Thank you,” Bobbie said.
Mike gave her a long look, then nodded. He turned and headed down the corridor, keeping his thoughts to himself. Captain Scott would probably keep Bobbie off the duty roster permanently, ending her career, unless she got better before too long. And if he didn't, Doctor Jones probably would. She had never bowed to pleas, demands or threats when she’d felt someone was not suited to active duty.
And this may be what it’s like from now on, he thought, grimly. Or worse.
He shuddered. He’d read a book several years ago, an autobiography written by a woman who’d left Earth in her early twenties. The woman had been blunt; she’d grown up in the middle-class regions of Earth, yet she’d still been raped several times. She’d taken it in her stride, Mike recalled. To him, it was horrific; to her, it was part and parcel of living on Earth, just one of many things that had to be endured. And the hell of it, as she’d made clear, was that her experiences were hardly the worst ...
Dear God, he thought, as he stepped into the duty office. Is that what we’re going to become?
Chapter Twenty-Six
And those who did care were almost worse. Their ideas of how the universe worked were so out of touch that they might as well have been in different universes to their subjects. Their idealism - they were always idealists, simply because they never had to give up anything of importance - led them to take truly unwise steps.
- Professor Leo Caesius. Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.
The entire spaceport was buzzing with rumours as John followed Joel and a handful of other Stewards through the endless rows of tents. Joel hadn't even noticed Hannah’s absence - it hadn't been until much later that John had realised that Joel had been in the city too - nor had he bothered to look for her, as night fell over the tent city. They’d endured a largely sleepless night, fearful that something would happen. And the rumours were growing darker and darker.
But nothing had happened.
John fretted helplessly as they reached a large square, the sole open space in the giant spaceport. A small frame had been erected in the exact centre, surrounded by a cluster of Stewards holding the crowd back. John gratefully stepped aside as Joel headed onwards, passing through his fellows and walking over to the frame. It looked like something stolen from a child’s playground.
Joel turned and opene
d his mouth. “Bring forth the prisoners!”
John tensed, suddenly realising what was about to happen. Jack and Adam were marched forward, their hands tied in front of them. Neither of them looked to have had a wink of sleep, judging by the way they inched towards the frame. But then, neither of them wanted to be there. John was surprised that they were there at all. Joel had considered them allies, hadn't he? Adam had definitely been at the meeting where Joel had first started talking about fighting.
“These two fools decided they could assault a woman,” Joel said. His voice echoed through the silence. “They have confessed their crimes. They now come to claim their repentance.”
John shivered, unable to look away as the two men were tied to the frame, their shirts lifted to reveal their broad backs. Joel was making a point to everyone, he realised numbly. He was restoring discipline, such as it was, and also making it clear that he was in charge. John looked from side to side, but none of the Elders were visible. He hadn't seen Konrad since they’d returned to the spaceport. Had the Elders passed judgement on the two fools? Or had Joel usurped their responsibilities for himself?
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